It's About Thanksgiving
by BlackhawkCarol
Summary: In the aftermath of "Treachery", the Morelli family is in shambles. Will the Thanksgiving holiday provide them with anything to be thankful about, or are they doomed for even greater dysfunction. And Ranger and Cheryl unite to face down her stalker, but will a secret from Ranger's past threaten to destroy any chance of a relationship between them? Cupcake, yet Ranger friendly.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! I've missed you all! I was going to wait and post in the New Year, but I decided to do it now, so I can say I posted a chapter in every month of 2012. LOL!

Special thanks to my two Beta elves who've worked overtime during the holiday season to keep me afloat. Julie and Kim, you are the best present of 2012 for me. Thank you for the fun and the topnotch help you've both given me.

Oh, and if you're checking out my work for the first time, go back to "It's About Time", as the story begins there.

May you all have a blessed 2013!

* * *

Chapter One

**Stephanie's POV**

In those misty gray moments right before twilight turns into darkness, Joe turned his truck onto Slater Street.

"Look, there's the house," I cried excitedly, practically bouncing in my seat. "Woo-hoo—and my car too!"

"And somewhere inside that house is our bed. I sure as hell can't wait to find _that _thing," Joe responded dryly. "That fold out sleeper was a killer, Cupcake."

In my excitement, I ignored his complaint. "Is Bob there yet? And RJ?"

"Mooch dropped them off this afternoon."

"Well, hurry up then!" I urged. "I can't wait to see them."

He pulled into the driveway, and I had the door open before he even stopped the vehicle.

"Watch out!" Joe grabbed onto the back of my coat to prevent me from leaping out. "No point in killing yourself and defeating the purpose of ten days in the hospital.

_Ugh_—ten days.

It'd felt like a lifetime.

Thanksgiving was still two days away, but I was already grateful for having been released from what I'd considered my own personal prison at Helene Fuld. As a precaution, Dr. Hamilton had insisted I stay three days longer than he'd originally prescribed to ensure I was completely healed from the cold I'd caught during my abduction into the swamp.

Thankfully, his strategy had worked. I _hadn't _contracted pneumonia, my cold was now history, and I had a clean bill of health to resume any and all activities within reason—one of which I was _more _than ready to do with the man beside me. No doubt Joe was anxious too, considering we'd only been married for a little more than a month and hadn't had sex for nearly two of those weeks.

Not willing to wait any longer, I scrambled out of the truck and rushed up the back steps. Bob was already on the other side of the door whining and scratching to get at me.

"I'm coming, big boy. Hang on." The ecstatic whimpers escalated.

Joe was right behind me carrying the small overnight bag he'd brought to the hospital when it'd become apparent I would there for a while. Sticking the key in the side door, he gave me a grin. "You ready? Brace yourself."

"Do it."

He swung the door forward, and we practically tripped over the orange monster waiting to devour us.

"Hey, Bob. Hey, fella!" I greeted, rubbing every inch of our beloved pet. Spotting the cage on the counter next to the fridge, I addressed our other furry companion, who was busy running his daily marathon. "RJ—I'm back. Miss me?"

He paused on the wheel, whiskers twitching, to consider my question. At least that's what I assumed his pause meant. Like his predecessor Rex, it was tough to tell sometimes. Evidently deciding my appearance was too much to ponder, the hamster hastily grabbed a piece of carrot from a pile in the corner and made a beeline for his soup can.

_Hunh—welcome home._

At least there was Bob, who in his enthusiasm had somehow managed to wind his way in between my legs and now had his nose pressed up against my belly.

"He missed you," Joe noted in amusement, setting the suitcase and his jacket on the kitchen counter.

"I missed him too. Yes, I did," I crooned in a silly, singsong voice. "I missed everything outside of that stupid hospital."

Opening the door to the fridge, Joe gave a low whistle. "Somebody went to the grocery store for us today." He pulled out a Pyrex dish filled with scalloped potatoes and ham. "I'm guessing your mom."

Peering over his shoulder, I noticed a full dish of manicotti in there as well.

"Looks like your mom was here too," I observed, keeping my voice neutral. "Manicotti—your favorite. That was nice of her."

"Uh-huh. Did I tell you the social worker wants to meet me at your mom's tomorrow for another home visit?"

Somehow I refrained from sighing out loud. Joe's attitude had been the same all week whenever his mother was mentioned. _Patience, Steph._

"Everything's working out okay with Jessie though, right? My mom said she hasn't made any attempts to leave in the last two days. Don't you think that's a good sign?"

Joe closed the refrigerator door. "Beats me. What I know about teenagers could be written on a tube of a Chapstick."

His chocolate brown eyes took on a teasing glint as he turned to face me. "And guess what?"

"What?"

"I know even _less _about babies."

He ducked when I tried to smack him.

"Liar—don't tell me that!" I cried, covering my ears in jest. "You know lots about babies. You'd better anyway, or we're screwed."

"Maybe I know a few things," he acknowledged. With a rather lecherous grin, he took a step toward me. "Like making babies. Probably I should show you how good I am at _that_."

"Probably you should," I agreed, sliding my hands up the front of his dark brown shirt.

Joe bent his head to kiss me and, in the process, caught a glimpse of the clock on the stove. It was already six thirty. Despite having left work early to pick me up and bring me home, it'd taken forever to be released from the hospital.

My stomach growled in deference to the time, and Joe's eyes softened at the sound.

"Are the three of you hungry?"

"Are you horny?" I shot back cheekily, standing on tiptoes to place small, well-timed kisses along his bristly jaw line.

Pulling back, he looked at me like I was crazy. "I'm _always_ horny."

"Well then—there you go. _I'm_ always hungry."

Joe snorted, enjoying the light-hearted banter. "I'll preheat the oven."

My mood was practically giddy. It felt so damned good to be in my own home and free of much of the stress that had surrounded us since returning from our wedding in Barbados. By spoken agreement, Joe and I had agreed to postpone any conversations of significance during my hospital stay. While it had seemed like a good idea at the time, unfortunately a certain element of emotional distance had crept back into our relationship—not anger, but certainly an awkward tentativeness that neither of us liked nor knew how to eliminate other than actually talking.

And talking wasn't exactly a strong suit for either of us.

My stomach growled again, and I grinned. At thirteen and a half weeks pregnant, the wretched morning sickness I'd experienced was fast becoming a thing of the past, thanks in part to the Zofran I was still taking. In its place was an insatiable hunger for food—real food—all the time.

"I'm going up to take a shower and change before dinner."

"Good idea. You'll need your strength for later," he declared matter-of-factly, although his sly wink left no room for misinterpretation. "I'll bring your bag up in a minute."

A shiver of anticipation ran through me when I saw the predatory look on his face. Dr. Hamilton had given us the all clear for sexual activity before leaving the hospital, and we were both more than ready to take advantage of his blessing. We both craved the physical connection of sex to compensate for what we hadn't quite been able to maintain emotionally since the first hours after my rescue.

"Guess I'd better take a nap then too."

"Definitely a nap," he agreed seriously.

I ran a finger down his nose enticingly. "Want to join me?"

Joe groaned. "Yes—more than you can possibly imagine, but I'd better not. I left a couple of things hanging at the precinct when I left to pick you up, and I want to check on Tony too."

My carefree attitude dimmed considerably at the reminder of just _one _of the situations still unresolved in our lives.

"Any chance he'll be released for Thanksgiving?" I asked hopefully.

Joe shook his head. "It's nothing short of a miracle he's alive as it is. He has a long way to go, Steph. Christmas might even be a stretch. It all depends."

I shivered again—only this time it was from the reminder of how lucky Tony and I had been—Mary Lou too. Ten days earlier, it'd been questionable as to whether any of us would live, considering the madman who'd abducted me had shot Tony in the stomach, and Mary Lou had received a concussion by the very same gun. Now Bruce Jackson, my captor, and Brian Stampler were both in the Mercer County jail awaiting trial, and Tony was on what appeared to be on the long road toward recovery.

Mary Lou had been released a week ago, and was now almost completely healed from her concussion. She'd come to visit me several times in the hospital where we'd shared stories and tears over our respective traumas. While she'd tried her best to entertain me with manicures, magazines and gossip, nothing had interested me. I'd only wanted to go home.

And now I _was_ home—only my excitement wasn't nearly as heady as upon our arrival. The reality of those unspoken conversations hung too noticeably between Joe and me.

"I guess I'll see you in a bit then," I smiled hesitantly, reaching up to brush away the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. "I love you."

Joe took my hand and placed a kiss in the center of the palm. "I love you too—never doubt it. Welcome home, Cupcake."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Check with Rodriguez. I think he had the Stampler file on his desk this afternoon."

"I will, but you can't keep avoiding Rogers forever," Sherry Gort, the acting police chief's secretary, said seriously in my ear. "The DA is on his case for some of that evidence. He wants to meet with you as soon as possible—preferably yesterday."

"Uh-huh—I've been busy."

"That tired excuse isn't going to cut it much longer. He's given you space for nearly two weeks, and now word around the precinct is the governor called this morning to say his office is close to naming a new mayor and city council. The four wards have put in their requests for replacements. Governor Juniak simply has to appoint the three at-large members and a new mayor, and Trenton is back in business."

"And this concerns me how?" I asked, doing a poor job of showing my disinterest.

"Don't play dumb, Morelli. The new council will name a permanent police chief no later than the end of the year. They're not bothering with an election given the black eye Trenton's already endured thanks to the whole Kennard mess. They want to come out strong in the New Year."

"I'm still not available for a meeting, Sherry."

She huffed. "Listen—I know you and Rogers have had some issues of late. Word around the precinct is—"

"Christ, with all of these words flying around the precinct, it's a wonder any work gets done!"

"Smart ass," she bristled. "I was going to say I know you two have hit a rough patch—"

"We're not lovers."

_God, I was being an asshole_. But I couldn't seem to help it. My patience level for political bullshit—well, for anything except Stephanie really—remained at an all-time low.

"Shut up, Joe," she retorted. "I'm serious. I wouldn't mess with Rogers. He's nervous enough as it is without you adding additional stress to his life."

"No, I certainly wouldn't want to add any stress to _his _life," I responded sardonically. _Tone it down, Morelli—too much anger._

"Good. I'm glad we both agree," the precinct's number one flirt answered, seemingly satisfied with my answer. Apparently she didn't speak sarcasm.

Too bad—it was practically my native language.

"Later," I ground out before disconnecting.

Dropping my head back against the couch, I closed my eyes and absorbed the sound of silence around me. Steph was right—it _was _good to be home. Even though I'd stopped in every day to shower, change clothes, and pick up the mail before heading in to work, I'd spent my nights at the hospital with her, sleeping on that godforsaken pull out bed. The old saying was definitely true; hospitals were the _last _place to go if you needed rest. And yet, I wouldn't have wanted to be anyplace other than there with her. The house simply wasn't the same without her in it.

We may have made it through the most recent nightmare to rock our marriage, but both of us were still reeling inside from different issues. For Steph, it was the knowledge that a madman in the middle of a swamp had almost killed our unborn babies and her. Despite having been in many awful positions as a bounty hunter, this time more than just her life had been endangered. The horrifying event had not only scared her but had also somehow served as the catalyst she'd needed to accept her impending motherhood. Her excitement was a beautiful thing to see.

We both were clinging to the joy of knowing both babies were healthy. Perhaps I needed it even more than Steph, as I continued to endure my own personal hell with the rest of my family. Since Paul's release from jail, I'd somehow managed to avoid every one of them besides Tony—including my own mother, despite her best efforts. Even my brief visits with Tony were spent discussing the status of his recovery rather than anything of importance. He still required a lot sleep, partially from the surgery and partially due to his withdrawal from alcohol. There'd been no discussion of the past—or the future.

Good—I didn't want to talk.

I didn't want to ask the questions eating at me, because I wasn't sure I wanted the answers—questions about my past, my mother, my brothers, and about Manoso's questionable ploy to get Stephanie back into his life by offering to buy out Vinnie and put her in charge of the bonds office.

Somehow I'd managed to disassociate myself relationally from friends, family, colleagues—even Cheryl Sullivan, the counselor who'd been such a help to me. I dragged myself to work each day, because I had too. There was too much to be done for me to abandon my team any longer, and in some ways I'd needed the distraction of other people's problems to avoid my own.

_What would Stephanie do if she knew about what was churning in my gut and head?_ _Would she run in fear? _God knows it scared me. There were days when it felt like our love for one another and our babies was the only thing keeping me from succumbing to the inexplicable rage constantly beneath the surface.

Scouring my hands over my face in hopes of scrubbing away my dark thoughts, I got up off the couch and headed for the kitchen. Ever-hopeful Bob trotted along beside me. Stephanie was upstairs sleeping, an idea that was sounding better and better to me as well. Too many sleepless nights had caught up with me. Maybe with more rest, my attitude wouldn't be so discouraged.

"Come on, boy. Let's see if dinner's almost ready," I said tiredly. As I gave him an affectionate rub on the top of his head, my cell rang again.

"Morelli."

"Joseph."

_Shit—_it was Grandma Bella.

_Why hadn't I bothered to check the Caller ID before answering?_

"Hey, Grandma," I greeted warily. "This is a surprise. Why didn't you just call the house phone?"

"Hunh. Why you think? You're never at that house of yours anymore. How else am I to find you?"

"Good point," I agreed, trying to sound happy to hear from her. "Well, Steph and I are _both_ home now."

I took a quick look in the oven to make certain the meal Helen had prepared wasn't burning. "How'd you get this number anyway?"

"How you think?"

Wincing, I responded, "From Ma?"

"No! I call your work," she rejoined. "Why ask your mother? Why put her through more heartache by mentioning your name? Hasn't she cried enough tears? That manicotti she make for you is _full _of tears!"

_And so the guilt began._ "Heartache?"

"Don't you pretend you don't know what I talk about, Joseph Morelli. You think I don't see how you avoid us like the plague? You think I don't know the blackness that suffocates your soul? I see things. I know."

Sighing, I leaned my hip against the kitchen counter. "Uh-huh."

"Don't be insolent—"

"What can I do for you, Grandma?" I cut her off, pinching the bridge of my nose. _Please don't ask me to do something for you. Not tonight._

She danced around the question. "When you going to stop this foolishness?"

"What foolishness?"

"This bitterness toward your family. You're embarrassed and hurt. No?"

"No."

"Don't lie! I may be old, but I know. How can I not know when I've watched my son's family self-destruct before my eyes because of his selfish, evil ways?"

Her statement caught me off-guard. In thirty-five years of living, I'd never heard my grandmother speak so derogatorily against my father.

She twisted the knife of guilt deeper, speaking quietly, "Your mother is heartbroken, Joseph." And my conscience flinched accordingly_. _

_Don't listen. Don't listen._

"I appreciate the phone call, Grandma, but now isn't—"

"What? The time? Now isn't the time? Then when? When you stop this cold shoulder you give your family? When you try to understand why we did what we had to do?"

"_WE?_" My ever-present anger flashed. "_You_ too? _You_ knew your son tried to kill me and never thought it might be something I might like to know?"

"Don't be stupid—of course I knew what happened. He was _my_ son. You don't tell an eight-year old child such a thing—not when you're sworn to secrecy."

I fairly growled, "But I'm not eight years old anymore, am I."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

Standing at the top of the stairs, I debated whether to go down to the kitchen or not.

_He was so angry._ Listening to Joe talk to his grandmother, I could hear the little boy in him crying out to be heard. _When would he see he needed to talk about the hurts inside of him rather than continue to try and hide them?_

For nearly two weeks I'd given my husband the space he'd seemingly needed after he'd told me he was completely 'burned out' the night Tony had awakened. At the time, it'd seemed wise. I too had needed space to lick my personal wounds from my torture at Bulldog's expense and to think about the crazy opportunity Ranger had laid before me regarding my future.

But I could see now our good intentions had unintentionally placed a wall between us, and—hard as it was going to be—the only way through it would be together.

Still pondering what to do, my cell phone buzzed in my hand with an incoming text.

_Ranger_

My stomach immediately knotted. I hadn't heard from him since the moment he'd walked out of my hospital room saying he'd be in touch.

_Really?_ A text? I hadn't heard one word from him since he'd left for Miami, and the best he could do was a brief text?

_Coming home Friday. Need your answer. _

THAT WAS IT?

Two seconds later a second text came through.

_Hope you're well._

I smiled grimly. Nothing had changed—Ranger was still a man of mystery, only I was too busy with my husband's own secretive ways to worry about why I hadn't heard from my former mentor.

Thinking only for a moment, I texted back:

_I'll have an answer._

THERE! Let him wonder about _that_. Turning off my phone, I felt only slightly guilty. I didn't have a clue what my answer was going to be—not until I had a chance to talk with Joe about it.

But first I needed to get his head on straight regarding his family.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"You act like you're eight years old," Bella scolded. "A _man_ would work through this anger—try to talk it over—try to forgive. You—you act like a child sulking in the corner."

"I'm _not _sulking!" _Shit—was I? _"In case you don't remember, I've been a little busy trying to save the assess of your two other grandsons."

"Don't swear!"

"Who's swearing? _Ass _is not swearing, Grandma."

Staring intently at my shoes, I needed to hang up before I said something I'd really regret.

"Is there something specific you want, or are you just calling to give me _hell_?" I spoke the last word almost defiantly.

_Maybe I was acting like a child._

"If I want to give you hell, I come over and slap you upside the head!" she cried, rattling off a stream of vulgarity that would've turned any room blue. Evidently, the fact it was in Italian somehow made it okay in her mind.

For some inexplicable reason, this quirk in her personality softened my temper.

"What do you want from me, Grandma?" I sighed wearily into the receiver.

"Thanksgiving. You come here and make peace with your mother. You show gratefulness for her sacrifices. You take the first step to eliminate this rift between you and the rest of us."

Her words rubbed at my pride like a cheese grater. "No."

There was no way in hell was I going to subject Stephanie and myself to that kind of torture by having to eat an entire holiday meal with my family—not feeling the way I did.

"Joseph—"

"No! Why should I? Not one of you has said I'm sorry—"

"And _you_ haven't said _thank you_."

I was incredulous. "Are you friggin' kidding me?"

"You be here, Joseph," she insisted sharply. "You owe your family the chance to make things right. You already kept us from Stephanie these past ten days. You gonna keep her from us forever—your children too? Stop this nonsense before someone gets hurt."

My hand balled in a fist.

_I AM already hurt. Can't you see that?_

"I'm not making any promises. Stephanie's parents—"

"Dinner at Noon. You be here, or I put the eye on you."

I couldn't stop a snort from escaping. She really was too much. "Grandma, there is no such thing—"

"Be here!"

She disconnected in my ear, and I tossed my phone onto the counter with way more force than necessary. Leaning my palms on the edge, I bowed my head and tried to regain control.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"What time's dinner?" I asked quietly from the open doorway to the kitchen.

Joe made an attempt to hide his anger before turning toward me.

"Just a few more minutes," he managed gruffly. "Hungry?"

I gave him a pointed look. "I meant for Thanksgiving at your mom's."

He grimaced. "It doesn't matter—we're not going."

"_We're _not—huh?" I responded dryly. "I don't seem to recall "we're" having discussed it."

Opening the oven, he grabbed two hot pads, pulled out my mother's ham and scalloped potatoes and set the dish on the kitchen table, before answering rather dismissively, "I thought I did you a favor by answering on our behalf."

"Very magnanimous of you."

"I try," he shrugged, well aware of my sarcasm. "Want to grab some dishes?"

Shoving off the doorjamb, I moved to the cupboard. "So you're saying not wanting to go over there has nothing to do with the fact that you've managed to ignore your entire family for almost two weeks now."

He took a lettuce salad out of the refrigerator. "Oh, it has _everything_ to do with it, but I did think I was doing you a favor as well. Holidays with the Morellis aren't exactly a fun time, Cupcake."

"I think we should go," I announced, plunking down silverware.

A growl of frustration met my statement.

"_Why_?"

"Because it'll break your mother's heart if we don't."

"Now you sound like my grandmother!"

A well-timed gesture let him know what I thought of _that _particular observation.

I gave him a scornful look. "Don't you think it's time we stop pussy-footing around one another and make an effort to talk about everything we've been avoiding?"

Joe rolled his eyes, scoffing back, "Says the queen of procrastination and denial."

"Well, at least I'm trying!"

We both sat down hard in our chairs, glaring at one another.

"What the hell happened to "welcome home", Cupcake?" I wondered sardonically. "Are you looking for a fight, Morelli? Because I'll give you one if that's what it's going to take to kick your ass out of this funk you're in."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

She was right. I was acting like a real jackass. That conversation with Bella wasn't sitting well with my conscience. _Who was I kidding? _Anything having to do with my family had me on edge and surly—one more reason why we shouldn't go to my mother's house for Thanksgiving.

Finding her hand, I gave it a squeeze. "That was a jerky thing to say, and I'm sorry."

"Apology noted," Steph accepted stiffly, nodding almost regally at me while reaching for the serving spoon to dish up our meal. She hid a smile. "And might I point out, Mr. Morelli, that I didn't even attempt to avoid the conflict between us just now."

My own lips curved upward. _Scamp._ "You were a paragon of virtue, _Mrs._ Morelli."

She nodded again, having an even harder time maintaining a straight face. "And you were equally wise in accepting your stupidity, Mr. Morelli. Remember that move for the next seven months, and we'll get along just fine."

I bowed my head mockingly. "So noted, Mrs. Morelli. Now can we talk about something else?"

She turned serious. "Absolutely, _after_ I say one more thing."

Setting down her fork, she gazed at me with the most loving expression, and my body instinctively responded. It'd been a long two weeks without her.

"If you really don't want to go over there for Thanksgiving, we won't—no questions asked," she said. "My mom's serving dinner at six, or, for that matter, we can stay here and have Cluck 'n a Bucket. I don't care, not as long as we're together."

_I knew there was more. _"But?"

She tipped her head in acknowledgement of my discernment. "But I think you're going to be even more miserable if we don't go. Do you _really_ want to crush your mother and grandmother like that?"

_Yes!_

_No._

_Did I?_

_Shit._

I stared at her soberly. "You'd really want to go over there knowing it could turn into the biggest blow-up you've ever seen?" I asked doubtfully. "It's bound to get ugly, Steph. I can't seem to stop the anger inside of me, and my family simply isn't normal. It's a combo destined for disaster."

"For crying out loud—my family isn't exactly the Cleavers, you know."

"No, but they're sober."

She snorted. "My mom? Sober?"

I smirked. "At least she's a happy drunk."

Stephanie slid out of her chair and moved over onto my lap. "It's going to be okay, Joe. _Everything _is going to be okay. It's just going to take time."

My arms wrapped around her, and I buried my face in her hair. The scent alone was enough to soothe the savage beast in me, although being in such close proximity was awakening other unfilled needs.

"Hurry up and eat, Cupcake," I urged roughly, pulling her more snuggly against my lower half.

The vein in her neck throbbed in anticipation as she turned her head and gazed at me.

"But what if I'm not hungry for food any longer?"

Her lips found mine, and it was like lighting a match to gasoline—instant combustion.

I was rock hard—both from the passion of my anger earlier and the need to be with my wife. Twelve days had been torture for the newlyweds we were. And yet the overpowering desire I had to connect with her both physically and emotionally warred with the fact that she and the babies needed to eat.

Breaking the kiss, I handed her a fork. "Chew fast."

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

Tossing the last of my files into my briefcase, I took one last look around my office. _Did I have everything?_

There was a single rap on the door, and then my boss Evan LeMaire poked his head inside.

"Heading out?"

"In a minute. Just making sure I have everything."

"Well, it's almost eight thirty. You should go home—especially if you're headed for Boston tomorrow." He jerked his head. "Come on, I'll walk you out."

I slipped on my full-length overcoat and smiled. "Evidently, you worked late tonight too."

"I had an unexpected client meeting, and then I stuck around to do paperwork."

My eyebrow rose. "Fibber. You stuck around to make sure I didn't walk out to the parking lot alone."

He blushed and pushed his horn-rimmed glasses further up his unassuming face. "Guilty as charged. I can't help it. I worry about you, Sully—especially now that Javier Sanchez is out of jail."

My conscience panged momentarily, thinking of the phone call and letter I'd received a couple of weeks ago. If I told him about either of those, he'd probably chain me to his wrist. Having convinced myself it was a group of teenaged boys playing a silly prank and not having heard anything more from whoever was behind the offensive messages, I'd tossed the note in my junk drawer at home and decided to forget about the whole nuisance.

_Mostly._

After locking the door to my office, Evan and I made our way down the hall to the elevator.

"You going home to Michigan to see your folks?" I asked, pushing the down button.

He shook his head. "Too far. I have clients coming in on Friday. I need to be here."

"Will you at least be with friends then?"

"Nah—Minka and I are going to stay home and have a quiet day together."

That'd be a nice thought if Minka was his wife, but knowing it was his Siamese cat wasn't exactly heartwarming. It concerned me that my old Harvard classmate had such social difficulties. Of average height and build, the best word to portray him, unfortunately, was nondescript—pale blue eyes hidden by thick glasses, light brown hair and a rather weak chin. What he lacked in appearance, however, he more than made up for in intelligence. We'd become acquainted as freshmen, after having been paired in a team project, and the infamous friendship of Sully and LeMaire had been born.

But as brilliant as Evan was, I sometimes feared he used his ability to counsel clients as a way of ignoring what was lacking in his own life. He was an incessant worrier, particularly when it came to me. He felt responsible for having brought me to Trenton after my time in the Air Force and tended to hover like a mother hen.

I cleared my throat. "You're more than welcome to come to Boston with me. My parents have plenty of room."

"No! No, that's okay," he stumbled, looking half-terrified. I could hardly blame him. My mother scared me too. Worse yet, she was no fan of Evan or psychology or anything else outside of her narrow-minded, little world.

The elevator arrived.

"Okay," I hedged, "but try and do something fun. You need a break from work once in awhile too, you know."

He flushed an even deeper red.

"You're sure you don't mind my taking off tomorrow?"

"Of course not. I know how crazy you are about Chip, and it's not every day you have your little brother home. Go have a peaceful couple of days with your family."

With eight brothers, seven sisters-in-law and a passel full of nieces and nephews, the idea of having peace was downright comical. But it would be nice to see Chip, my youngest brother, currently in his last year at the Air Force Academy out near Colorado Springs. In fact, Thanksgiving in Boston sounded pretty damned near perfect—if it weren't for my mother.

And Mac.

My mother Barbara had invited Macon Colburn, my former fiancé and the most egotistical jerk in the world for dinner, along with his parents. She still lived in hopes I'd see the error of my ways, and that a prosperous union between our two families could somehow be forged.

_Fat Chance! _I was through with military men and their arrogance. I'd rather stay single.

We stepped off the elevator into the main lobby, and I said, "Well I don't know how peaceful it'll be, but with my mother and Mac there, it'll certainly be interesting."

Evan's expression tightened. "Mac's going to be there?"

"Yep. Bites, doesn't it?"

"Maybe I _should _go with you."

Throwing my arm around my best friend's shoulder, we walked through the main door to the parking lot. Evan knew all about the heartache I'd endured over Mac and his sick, philandering ways.

"I'll be fine."

We reached my 1995 Toyota Camry, and my boss grimaced. "I worry about you driving this thing, Sully. You need something more reliable."

"This old thing gets me where I'm going just fine." Remembering the ride I'd taken in Carlos Manoso's luxurious vehicle two weeks ago, I continued rather dourly, "Having a lesser car doesn't make me lesser of a person."

Evan opened his mouth, and I quickly added before he could worry more, "I've got to scoot. I need to get packed, and I've yet to find an appropriate _dress _to wear to this command performance of mine."

"You're sure you don't want—"

Leaning in, I bussed his cheek. "I'm _fine_—Happy Thanksgiving, Evan. I'm thankful for our friendship."

He smiled. "Me too. Drive safely."

On the way home, my thoughts drifted back to the night I'd done research for my book at The Pokey—the night Ranger had driven me home after my car broke down. Despite my bravado otherwise, I'd been mortified when I couldn't get the dumb thing to run, especially when Manoso had already made me feel so foolish and inadequate for having been at the dive bar in the first place.

I hadn't given him much thought in the past week—well, not too much—not since we'd had a pissing match in front of Stephanie in her hospital room. I wasn't even sure why the man rubbed me the wrong way, other than the fact that his superior, Special Forces attitude reminded me too much of Mac.

_He's nothing like Mac, Cheryl._

No, he wasn't.

Forcing my mind to forget how devastatingly attractive he was, I thought about Joe and Stephanie instead. _Why hadn't I'd heard anything from either of them_. The few times I'd tried to reach Joe by phone, the call had gone straight to voicemail, and I hadn't felt comfortable enough to keep going up to see Stephanie in the hospital uninvited. Technically, I wasn't counseling her.

I _had _been counseling Joe. More than likely he was feeling embarrassed by all he'd allowed me to see and hear during our interactions. Morelli was a tough cop. There was no room in his life for fear or sensitivity. The trouble with that, however, was a little thing called humanity. Everyone had a breaking point, and Joe had met his ten days ago when his wife and unborn babies had been abducted.

If he _was _indeed avoiding me, it meant Joe was trying to stifle all the powerful feelings battling inside him. Which in turn meant his emotional pot was being stuffed to the brim. An explosion could be imminent at any time. With Thanksgiving two days away, the likelihood of an eruption occurring was almost inevitable. I only hoped it didn't cause irreparable damage.

The professional in me worried I should perhaps stick closer to Trenton, but the lure of seeing Chip was too strong.

Right or wrong, I was going home.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_I'll have an answer._

My mind raced with the possible outcomes of that simple sentence Stephanie had texted back to my announcement I'd be returning to Trenton on Friday.

_Did that mean she had an answer? Or was she just messing with my head. __God, I hoped she had an answer for the million questions threatening to short circuit my brain._

"It's your turn, Dad," Julie pointed out. Moments later, she repeated more forcefully, "Dad! It's your turn."

"Huh?" I came out of my reverie to see her staring at me from across the Monopoly board. "Sorry."

She rolled her eyes in typical tween fashion. Just shy of her thirteenth birthday, I wouldn't be able to call her a tween much longer—whatever the hell a _tween_ was to begin with.

"You want to trade my St. James for your Boardwalk?" she asked hopefully.

"Yeah, right," I snorted, returning my focus to the game. "Who you think you're fooling, chica? I'm no dumbbell, you know."

My daughter giggled, and the sound sent my heart soaring.

My daughter. God, what an amazing thing to be able to say those words, and for the first time in her almost thirteen years of life feel like I had the right to say them.

Rachel had been surprisingly supportive of the idea of Julie coming to stay with me at my place in Miami when I'd called to say I'd be in the area. She was usually overly protective, making it clear her husband Ron was the "real" father in Julie's life. Truthfully, given my lifestyle, I'd always been okay with that particular notion. Infrequent phone calls, sporadic visits and perfunctory gifts had more than sufficed in my mind. I'd never considered myself father material.

Julie herself had made it more than clear upon her arrival she felt the same way. Her spunk and mouthy attitude had reminded me too much of me—and Stephanie. That later comparison hadn't exactly helped my quest to forget about the woman who'd stolen my heart for the past three years.

And yet it was Stephanie who'd put it in my head I needed to make more of an effort to be a part of Julie's life. I'd been thinking about it for months, but it wasn't until the paternity test that Stephanie helped me realize I _had _a child—one who barely knew me. It was time to remedy that sad fact.

Somehow during our time together, the seemingly impossible notion had happened. Julie had slowly but surely let down her guard with me. More importantly, I'd taken a risk and opened my heart to her, and together we'd forged a bond. It wasn't the same type of bond she had with her mother and Ron, but it was uniquely ours.

I _was _her father.

"You ought to just trade with me," her sweet-sounding voice once again brought me back to the ass-whooping I was taking in a stupid board game. "I already own most of the properties. You're going to be broke in ten minutes."

My eyebrows rose. "Oh you think so, huh?"

Her brown eyes, so like mine, shone like the business shark she was. _Like Father—like daughter._

"I _know _so. Face it—you're toast, Dad."

"What happens if some kind of tragedy occurs, and I win?" I challenged, leaning my forearms on the table to study her.

She frowned, considering. "What kind of tragedy?"

"Oh, I don't know. Like a bank failure or a run of bad luck or—"

"Or what?" she demanded suspiciously.

My voice lowered conspiratorially. "You know—a personal tragedy."

"Personal tragedy?"

I nodded solemnly. "Yes, you know—like a monster terrorizes the entire Monopoly board."

"Dad!" she flopped back in her chair, rolling her eyes again. "I'm _twelve_ not _two. _There's no such thing as monsters."

"Oh, but there are in Monopoly," I returned seriously.

"What kind!" she scoffed.

Sliding stealthily out of my chair, I grabbed her faster than she could gasp and tossed her onto the nearby couch.

"Tickle monsters!"

"Dad! No! Dad stop! Oh God—please!" Waves of laughter filled the room as she begged for mercy, writhing in delighted agony.

Giving her one last goose under her arms that sent her howling again, I pulled her up beside me and threw my arm around her shoulders. "Who's the winner now, huh kid?"

She surprised me by wrapping her arms around my torso and squeezing for all she was worth.

"I love you, Dad. I wish you didn't have to go on Thursday."

_Oh God. _A stab of awestruck wonder seared my soul.

_She loved me._

It was the first time she'd said the sentiment in years, and the first time I'd heard it with ears receptive to the notion I was worthy of this child's love. _How could I possibly leave her now?_

"I—I love you too, Julie," I whispered hoarsely. "I wish I didn't have to go either."

"You have to," she said glumly, yet without resentment.

"I do. I'm sorry. But things are going to be different this time."

She gave me a look of staunch disbelief.

"I'm serious. I'm going to talk with your mom about having you come spend part of your Christmas break with me in New Jersey next month—and a good part of your summer vacation too."

"Really?" Her voice was hopeful, but her expression still doubtful.

"Really—I promise."

"Cool! Will Stephanie be there?"

My voice faltered. "Stephanie?"

Another eye roll. "I'm _twelve, _Dad. She's your girlfriend right?"

My soul was seared again—only this time it was with the painful truth.

"No, Stephanie's not my girlfriend."

Julie looked confused. "She's not?"

"No. She's married now—to the police officer who—uh—who helped to rescue you the last time you were in Trenton."

A brief moment of fear flickered in her eyes at the memory of that nightmare, but then she smiled.

"The nice one? Officer Morelli?"

_Nice wasn't exactly the word I would've used, and wasn't it just peachy that she remembered his name._

"_Detective _Morelli, and, yes, he's the one."

She shrugged. "Cool. Can I still see her?"

My heart was having a hard time keeping up with the conversation.

"Yeah," I acquiesced. "You can see her."

After a moment of silence, she looked at me in concern and said perceptively, "You look sad."

_Let it go, Carlos. Let HER go._

"I am sad," I agreed, forcing myself to sound a little more upbeat. "Sad to leave you, sad I won't get another chance to beat your butt in Monopoly for awhile, sad that—"

"Hey! You _so _did not beat me."

My eyes gleamed. "Oh, but I did. Don't you remember? The tickle monster conquered the board."

"No way!"

"You don't believe me?" I warned in mock anger. "Perhaps you need a reminder?"

"NO!"

My fingers went back to torturing her, and in the process a little larger chunk of my heart chipped off to be left behind with my daughter.

_My _daughter.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"STOP tickling me!" I squealed, gasping for breath and trying to dodge Joe's deadly accurate fingers.

"Tell me you'll never call our son Joe Junior again, and I'll stop."

"No—I won't—" His fingers found the bottom of my bare feet. "Shit! Stop! Alright—alright—stop—no Joe Junior!"

"Swear it!"

"Joe!"

Another swipe across my foot.

"Alright—I swear!"

He immediately released my ankle and slid his entire body up the bed to rest on his elbows over me. "Good answer," he breathed, finding my mouth with his own.

What had started as an innocent joke when I'd tape the sonogram pictures to the mirror in our bedroom had quickly escalated into a full-blown pillow fight, followed by Joe's assault on my nervous system with his fingers.

_Mmmm…_but the payoff had almost been worth the agony.

Plunging my fingers into his hair, I rocked my hips beneath him. "No more games," I whispered against his lips. "I need you."

He groaned. "Not as much as I need you, Steph. You have no idea—"

"Show me then."

He suddenly sat up beside me and took a deep breath.

"What's wrong?"

Joe shook his head. "Nothing's wrong—I just need to find some level of control here. If I thought waiting before the wedding was bad, it was nothing compared to the past twelve days." He looked almost embarrassed. "I'm about ready to fly, and I haven't even touched you yet."

"I've been known to like to fly," I offered mischievously.

"I'm well aware of that, Wonder Woman—thanks for the reminder." He snorted. "Want me to see if I can find an old beach towel to pin around your neck? Maybe you could jump off the roof for old times sake while I try not to explode here."

Reaching out, I traced a finger over the significant bulge in his blue jeans. "I've been known to set off explosions too." His chocolate eyes turned hot and possessive, and I smiled seductively. "Sometimes the explosions are really _big _too."

"Steph—" he managed to grind out, closing his eyes in an attempt to hang on to whatever slim level of control he had.

I sat up and placed my mouth near his ear, running my hands down his back, which was facing me.

"I want you to make me explode, Joe. Right now. I want it just as much as you do."

"Just wait a sec—let me—"

"No," I shot back forcefully. "Now." Cupping his manhood provocatively, I whispered in his ear. "I don't want to fly without you."

The words hadn't finished leaving my mouth than I was flat on my back with Joe frantically tugging at his shirt, my shirt—anything he could get a grip on with his fingers.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathed against my stomach. "You've always been beautiful, but now with the pregnancy, you're—you're staggering."

My hands were too busy working the buttons on the fly of his jeans to answer. Sliding them, along with his briefs, over his hips, I used my feet to work them further down his legs, until he managed to kick them off.

_His _hands were too impatient for such inventive measures. He merely yanked my sweats off in one fierce tug before slipping his fingers into the welcoming warmth of my body.

"_Unnhh_," I cried out, closing my eyes as the first orgasm instantly rocked my body.

"Shit," he marveled in a rough voice, "I haven't even _done _anything yet."

"Can't—help—it," I panted. "So good—you feel so good. Oh God, I want you inside me right now. Please—Joe—"

* * *

**Joe's POV**

This wasn't at all how I'd pictured our first time back together would be. For two weeks I'd imagined slowly assaulting her body, letting her know with every kiss and every caress how much she was loved, until she begged me for release. Well, she was begging all right, but at this rate we were both only going to last about thirty seconds.

I tried valiantly to control my breathing—my pulse—my dick—hell, _anything_ at that point, but it was no use. Stephanie was determined.

Her hand wrapped around my erection and in one purposeful motion led me home, causing her to cry out again in satisfaction. The way her inner body was quivering against me, I briefly worried we might be hurting the babies. And then she shifted, allowing me to slide in even farther, and I was lost.

_Oh God. _She was so warm—so wet. My body was already on autopilot, searching for release.

"Steph—wait—"

"Can't!" she moaned into my ear, wrapping her legs around my hips and using her hands to thrust my lower body against hers. "You feel so good. You have no idea how good you feel to me."

I was breathing heavily, struggling to hold back. "It's always good with you."

"_Unnhh_, almost there," she keened, her breath coming out in frantic gasps. "Come—come fly with me. I love you so much."

At her words, I lost all conscious thought. _This _was what I needed to heal. More than anything else, I needed to connect with my other half—to have her make me whole again.

"Love you, Stephanie."

My hips bucked, striving for that mystical completion that awaited us both. Stephanie felt it too. Her fingernails raked over my back, urging me on.

"More," she begged. "I want all of you—"

Reaching between us, I found her clit, and that was all it took. Over the edge she flew—with me right behind her.

"Yes!" she shouted in satisfaction.

"God yes!" I agreed, barely managing to get out the words before nothing but sensation annihilated my system.

It took both of us several minutes to come down long enough for me to roll off and pull her into my arms.

"I'm sorry—"

"Don't you _dare _apologize," she chastised in a throaty voice that had my lower body instantly reacting. "That was incredible."

"I could've used a little more finesse. I have _way _better moves than that."

"I know _all _your moves, Morelli. Trust me—you couldn't have done better." She looked ready to ooze off the bed into a puddle on the floor.

The one eyebrow that wasn't already half-asleep from being so incredibly sated, cocked defiantly. "Is that a challenge? You do know I'm going to have to make you eat your words in a minute, right?"

She smirked. "I'm counting on it." Her eyes glittered before closing. "I love you, hubby."

She missed my eye roll, considering _my _eyes were already closed.

"Love you too, Cupcake. Welcome home."


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Happy Friday and Happy New Year!

Thanks to all of you for the warm welcome back and for the support on the first chapter. We're off and running! I'm so thankful to have my beta girls back with me. Julie and Kim, I appreciate all the feedback and good ideas. You keep pressing me for more, and that's a good thing. Can you feel the love and gratitude I'm sending your way?

This chapter begins to lay the ground work for what is to come. Whew, and there's a lot to come. LOL!

Enjoy your weekend. :-)

* * *

Chapter Two

**Stephanie's POV**

A phone rang in the dark.

"Ah shit—no," Joe practically whimpered against my ear. "No—no—no."

"Time?" I mumbled in my sleep.

It rang again.

Joe lifted his head enough to see the clock and groaned. "Four twenty. It's mine."

He fumbled around the nightstand for his cell phone, managing to find it before it could ring again.

"Morelli."

Listening to his end of the conversation, I knew it wasn't good. Nothing good occurred at four twenty in the morning. He was going to have to leave.

"I'll be there in fifteen. Tag Rodriguez for me, will ya?" Joe muttered into the receiver. Disconnecting, he flopped his arm, along with the phone, down onto the bed beside him. "Murder—female over near Stuart Avenue. Looks like she was raped first."

My breath caught unexpectedly. "Stuart isn't a bad neighborhood."

"Murder doesn't read street signs, Steph. You know that."

_Unfortunately, I did. _

"Carl and Big Dog were first on scene. A neighbor found the victim when she took her dog out to pee."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too—for the woman. Looks like she won't be celebrating Thanksgiving this year."

I heard the sorrow in his voice and worried he wasn't mentally ready to be back on the streets yet.

"Want me to get up? Find you something to eat before you go?"

Joe rolled over so his body covered mine briefly. We were both worn out from our vigorous welcome home party that had lasted well past Midnight.

"Wow, things really have changed," he noted, attempting a teasing tone. "Before we were married, you would've told me not to make too much noise on my way out the door."

"Now that you mention it—"

He laughed softly and dropped a soft kiss on my lips. "Go back to sleep, Cupcake. I'll call you later."

"Okay—be careful."

"Always."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Morelli! Over here!"

Carl and Big Dog were standing near a garbage dumpster in the alley behind a series of row houses when I got to the scene. Lights from other emergency vehicles were flashing up and down the street, and a small crowd had already gathered, most of which were wearing coats over their robes and pajamas. They'd be wishing for their long johns if they stood outside much longer. It was November twenty-first, and it was freezing.

Manny Rodriguez climbed out of his truck as well and sauntered over.

"Dude, this is hog-killing weather."

I gave a little grunt. "You sound like Reynolds."

He looked around the scene. "Why do people keep doing this shit to each other? I was having a good dream too—about that new secretary up in Crimes Against Property."

I hadn't a clue as to whom he was talking about. "Who?"

He shook his head woefully. "Spoken like an old married man. You are so out of the loop, Morelli."

"Thank God," I agreed. My tone may have been sardonic, but inside I really meant the words. Thank God Steph and I had finally gotten our acts together and become a family.

His face grew serious. "How's Stephanie? She's home, right? Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks." I jerked my head toward the scene. "We'd better get started."

Pulling the collar of my jacket up against the wind, we made our way over to where my two good friends stood blocking the view of the body.

"It's nasty," Big Dog warned by way of greeting. "Knife attack."

"Great," Manny intoned dryly. He had a Big Gulp coffee in one hand and took a huge slug of it.

Carl looked nervous. "There's something you ought to know before you look."

"What's that?" I asked impatiently. The sooner we got started, the sooner we could leave.

"Well—" he hedged.

"Spit it out, Costanza. I just left a very warm bed and an amazing wife. I'd like to get back to both before Thanksgiving if I can."

Manny let out an indelicate snort.

"See here's the thing," Carl evaded and then paused again.

I looked at Big Dog. "What the hell's wrong with him?"

He cleared his throat. "He's talking about the girl—the victim."

"Yes, I know that," I returned, making sure they saw my eye roll in the dim light of the streetlamps.

"You see—"

"Oh, for Christ's sake," I snapped, pushing them both aside to stand over the corpse, and then simply froze.

"Whoa," Manny let out an unsteady breath behind me.

I was awfully glad I hadn't taken Steph up on her offer of food before I'd left, as right then it would've found its way into a nearby gutter.

The woman lying there butchered on the ground looked almost exactly like Stephanie upon first glance.

Of course the logical side of my brain knew it was merely a superficial likeness. This girl was a good ten years younger, not to mention the fact that hundreds of women in Trenton were her height and had curly, shoulder-length hair. But the skin tone was the same, as was the bone structure and small facial features, and as a result, the logical side of my brain slipped into a momentary freak out session.

Resisting the urge to call my wife to assure her safety, I forced myself to swallow back my personal feelings and do the job.

"Why don't you go ahead and talk to Carl and Big Dog about what they found upon arrival?" I instructed Rodriguez in a brusque tone.

Before he could respond, I turned to Carl. "Where's the witness?"

"In her kitchen." He observed me in concern. They were all looking at me as though I might shatter at any moment.

"Why don't you take a stab at talking with her too, Manny" I ordered. "I'll stay out here and work with the techs for evidence."

"Poor choice of words, Morelli, but I'll do it."

He didn't move.

"Is there a problem? I demanded, sweeping my gaze across all three men.

Rodriguez was the first to find his voice. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

_Liar._

"This—uh—hits a little close to home after what happened with Stephanie, don't you think?"

_You're in charge here, Morelli. Act like a leader._

"It's _not_ her," I said abruptly, trying to appear unaffected, "but it _is _some poor woman who needs our complete focus and attention. Got that, detective? Officers?"

Manny stared at me a beat longer. "Got it." Beside him, Carl and Big Dog merely nodded.

"Good—then let's get to work."

Rodriguez gave me a two-fingered salute and motioned for the uniforms to follow him. Meanwhile, I stood above the victim, already knowing I'd do everything within my power to nail the SOB who'd committed this massacre.

I'd been in homicide long enough know how nasty murder could be, but this one had been exceptionally heinous. Whoever had killed the girl had been angry, vicious—perhaps even vengeful. She'd been filleted and gutted like a bluegill. Without talking to a soul, I knew this hadn't been some random rape and assault. It'd been cold, calculated—and certainly premeditated.

Blowing out a heavy breath of air, I signaled to the tech crew. It was time to get to work.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

The ringing of my cell phone brought me out of a nightmare where a lion was suffocating me in the middle of the Serengeti. Gasping for breath, I shoved at Bob, who at some point after Joe left had decided my chest made the best pillow in the house.

"—'lo," I slurred, finally managing to push him off of me.

"Damn, girlie—listen to you breathin' all hot and heavy. You and Officer Hottie havin' sex again?"

"What? No!" I swiped at my hair, still disoriented. "Lula—what time is it?"

"Eight o'clock."

"In the morning?" I nearly choked. "And you're up?"

She snorted. "Hunh! Been up since six. Had to do my ten miles on that damned treadmill, didn't I?"

That got my eyes opened. "_You _walked ten miles?"

"Damned straight I did—every day for the past ten days."

"Where? Better yet—_why_?"

"Over at Rangeman. Batman has me on some stupid ass workout plan. Says I need to toughen up." She sounded disgusted at the thought. "Lost a couple of pounds too. Good thing I caught on and started eatin' more before things got out of hand. Wouldn't want there to be nothin' for Tank to hold onto and all."

"Wait—Ranger's still training you? I thought he was in Miami."

"He _is _in Miami. If you hadn't been all uppity and reclusive up there in that hospital of yours, you'd know Lester's trainin' me while he's gone. I been workin' my tail off while you was sittin' up there like some princess in a friggin' spa."

"I'd hardly call ten days in a hospital trying to ward off pneumonia a trip to the spa," I drawled.

_Yeesh!_

"Well, how am I to know? It's not like you been callin' me, right? And I tried comin' up to visit you. Yes, I did—even though hospitals scare me 'bout as much cops do. But them damned bitch nurses told me it was after hours. After hours for what? Nine o'clock's too late to say howdy-do to your best friend?"

Now I felt defensive. "I tried calling you, but it went to voicemail—"

She suddenly let out a loud guffaw. "Ha! Don't you know when someone's playin' with ya? Shit—you lose your sense of humor up there breathin' all that Pine Sol or what?"

"Evidently," I returned sarcastically.

Her tone turned serious. "All kiddin' aside—you and them babies okay now, girlie, 'cuz you scared the livin' crap out of me."

"I scared _me_ too," I admitted softly, running a loving hand over Bob's back. "We're okay though. My cold's gone, the nausea's gone, and I feel like I'm ready to be back in business. Speaking of which, _who_ is running Vinnie's business? I haven't heard from Connie either."

"That girl don't have _time_ to be makin' social calls. With me over at Rangeman, she's workin' her booty off in the office while Vinnie's out chasin' skips."

The news made me think of Ranger and his crazy plan to buy out Vinnie. At least half of me thought it was crazy. The other half thought it was ingenious, and I wanted to be a part of it more than I'd imagined when Ranger had first presented me with the idea before he left.

Hmmm...now that I was awake, I realized how hungry I was.

"You want to go get some breakfast?"

"Girlie, ain't you been listenin'? I'm a working' woman now. I can't be runnin' off for donuts anytime I want."

_Hunh—but it'd been okay when she WASN'T working with me? _The green-eyed monster was back, knowing Lula was getting the training I never received from anyone and _especially_ knowing the hell she'd given me half the time we'd worked together. At the same time, I was thrilled one of my closest friends was receiving the chance to do more with her life than being just a sidekick.

"But I _am _available Friday night, and that's why I'm callin'. Connie and I need a break. We want to take you out for dinner and drinks—not that you'll have room in that belly of yours after you gorge on turkey and stuffin' all day tomorrow."

"Lula—I'm pregnant. Drinking isn't exactly something I can do."

"Drinkin' ain't somethin' you can do even when you're _not _pregnant. Shit—that's why you gonna be a cheap date. You 'bout the weakest drinker I ever seen. But you can eat can't you? Who am I kiddin'. I _know _you can eat, and with two babies in there wantin' food all the time, I bet you eat like a cow now."

"Don't mention the word cow," I said through clenched teeth. I still hadn't forgotten I owed Terry Gilman for having slashed my tires and written 'Moo' across my windshield at Pino's a couple of weeks back.

"Let's talk Mexican then, 'cuz me and Connie want burritos. Mexicana Grill, seven o'clock sharp. Want us to pick you up?"

"Yeah—no! I mean, I don't know. I'll have to talk with Joe—"

"Damn, you two joined at the hip now or somethin'? I don't be askin' Tank if I can go out. I just tell him, 'I'm goin' out'. He likes it when I'm all authoritative like that. I bet Detective Permagrin would like it too."

My jaw was so tense, it was a wonder she could hear anything I said. "I meant I'd have to see if we have other plans."

"What other plans? You married now, ain't ya? What do married people do 'cept sit around and watch reality TV and have sex once a week. 'Course you and Morelli _are _like rabbits. Come to think of it, maybe you _can't_ go out. I don't want you to be self-combustin' while I'm trying to eat my burrito. I've seen that before, and it ain't pretty. Maybe we oughta—"

"I'll be there at seven," I snapped.

"Good. Bring your granny and Mary Lou too. We need to celebrate your recovery and Mary Lou's. It'll be a regular reunion of your weddin'. We're all dyin' to know what was in that sex bag you got for the honeymoon. And God knows your prissy little butt for shore ain't gonna tell us."

"We'll see." _How about—no way in heck!_ "Happy Thanksgiving, Lula."

"Huh? Oh Yeah—you too. Later."

Disconnecting, I gave a slight moan at the thought of what I'd just committed myself to. This dinner idea had 'disaster of epic proportion' written all over it, _especially _if I included Grandma Mazur.

"Well, no sense in worrying about it now," I said to Bob. "We'd better find something to eat. The babies are hungry. And then we need to plan our approach for tonight with Morelli. How am I going to present this business deal with Ranger in such a way that doesn't include my husband having a coronary and leaving our babies without a father?"

Bob tilted his head, letting me know he had about as much of a clue as I did—which was none.

Climbing out of bed, I dragged on a pair of sweat pants and headed for the kitchen. No sooner had I stepped foot on the bottom stair step than the doorbell rang. Bob immediately took off for parts unknown, which told me exactly who was on the other side of the door.

_Bella—and Joe's mother was probably right there with her._

Looking down at my frumpy, slept-in clothing, I sighed. I never could catch a break when it came to those two. Sure enough when I opened the door, they were both standing there huddled on the doorstep, clutching two big bags of what I assumed to be food.

"Angie—Grandma Bella—this is a surprise."

A gust of wind blew hard right then, practically sweeping all three of us into the front hallway. Forcing the door shut against the strong gale, I turned expectantly toward them.

"What's the matter with you? You still sick?" Bella scowled, noting my attire. "It's after eight o'clock."

_Major inward eye roll. _"I'm fine, but thanks for the concern. Just trying not to jump back into things too quickly."

"Hunh." Bella grunted.

"Is Joseph here?" Angie asked, looking nervously about.

"No, he got called in early this morning."

"Oh," she said, trying to mask her disappointment. "Well, I hope we aren't intruding. We heard from Mrs. Fortunato next door that you were home and thought perhaps you could use some basics until you have a chance to get to the grocery store."

She looked absolutely worn down and had aged considerably since the last time I'd seen her at Tony's preliminary hearing. How humiliating it must've been for her to have to hear from Joe's neighbor rather than himself that I was no longer in the hospital. I wasn't about to crush her spirit further by telling her my mother had already stocked our refrigerator with food.

"This is great—thanks," I offered sincerely. Taking the bag, from Bella, I led the way into the kitchen.

Angie placed her load on the table and immediately pulled me into her arms. "I'm so grateful you're okay, Stephanie. I've been praying every day for you and the babies." She paused, "I wanted to get up to see you, but—"

She stopped then, looking pained.

"It's okay." I gave her a squeeze. "You've had your hands full. And I'm fine—really."

She gave me a grateful nod. Neither of us wanted to mention that the real reason why she hadn't been up to see me was because Joe had denied her the right.

"How _is_ Tony? Have you heard any more from the hospital today?" I asked politely.

"No, we're headed there next." She fidgeted with the button on her coat before adding grudgingly, "I like to give Angelina the first shift. It's better that way."

Joe had told me about the big blow-up between Angie and Tony's wife the morning after his brother's surgery. From the sound of things, the rift between the two women hadn't improved much, although I was happy to know Angelina and Tony seemed to be trying to work things out.

Remembering Burg protocol and hoping to change the subject, I said, "Um—would you both like some coffee? I could make some—"

"Oh no! Thank you, but no. We won't stay. I—_we_ just wanted to make sure you and the babies were okay," Angie rushed to decline.

"We're fine," I assured her. "Ready to get on with life again."

"Hunh. You might start by showering," Bella groused. She peeked her head out into the living area. "Run a vacuum too."

_So much for the fact I'd just spent ten days in the friggin' hospital!_

I opened my mouth to defend myself or tell her where to go—not sure which. Regardless, Angie stopped me by asking rather coyly, "Do you and Joseph have plans for Thanksgiving? Will you be joining your parents?"

_Oh Jeez. _Now what was I supposed to do? Joe had never given me a definitive answer. We'd been too distracted by our little welcome home celebration.

"Uh—"

"If not, I'd love to have you at my house—that is—if you think—"

The poor woman simply couldn't voice that which we all knew to be true. Her son was avoiding his family.

My gaze involuntarily met Bella's, and she gave me a pointed look. Somehow she knew I was aware of her conversation with Joe—probably she'd seen it in a vision—but evidently Angie _wasn't_ aware her mother-in-law had called her son. Argh—the last thing I wanted was to get in the middle of this family mess, especially when it technically wasn't even my family.

Bella didn't seem to have the same qualms about involving me.

"You tell my bull-headed grandson stop sulking and come make things right with family—like I tell him yesterday."

"_Wait—_what does that mean?" Angie frowned. "You've spoken with Joseph? When?"

"Didn't I just say yesterday?"

"Bella!" she chastised, completely mortified. "You didn't tell me—"

"Someone had to start the ball rolling on healing this rift between you and your baby."

It always amazed me how those two could think of my six-foot, solid muscled husband as a 'baby'.

Casting me a self-conscious glance, she hissed at Bella, "This is _not _the time—or place—"

"When?" Bella pushed, throwing her arms over her head in agitation. "Christmas? Easter? When babies turn eighteen? Enough foolishness! I've been quiet too long—"

"Stop!" Angie ordered, her voice sounding shrill. "That is enough out of you." She turned to me, "I'm so sorry—"

"Don't apologize for me!" Joe's grandmother retorted, pointing a gnarly finger in her daughter-in-law's face. "I see what I see, and know what I know. And I know you hurt because of Joseph's stubborn pride."

_Keep quiet. Keep quiet._

"I think it's a little more than stubborn pride, don't you?" The words popped out of my mouth involuntarily.

_Darn it! _Why did my mouth always refuse to cooperate with my brain?

Bella turned her finger on me. "You think I not know this? You think I not know my grandson is hurting?"

She was practically shaking from her anger.

"I watch this family fall apart for _twenty-seven_ years—longer even, but do I talk? No! I stand back, because Angie makes me promise not get involved."

"Bella, please—" Angie chastised. "Enough! I've been asking you to quit interfering for more than two weeks now."

"No!" the old woman said adamantly, stomping her black, low heel on the linoleum. "You _all _hurt—still tortured from memories of my no good excuse son!" She quickly crossed herself. "May God forgive his wretched soul."

"She's right," I surprised myself by saying.

Angie's eyes flashed a glare at me. "Don't _you _start on me too, Stephanie. You've already pushed too much, getting me to tell you those things about my husband and trying to dredge up the past."

For once, she didn't intimidate me in the least.

"The past was coming back to haunt all of you with—or without—my help. Joe's subconscious did all the work there. And if you think I won't do or say _whatever _it takes for him to heal from his tragic childhood, you're crazy. _He's _about to become a father, Angie! I need him at peace and completely whole again before we bring two more lives into this world."

She gave a sharp intake of breath, and I lowered my voice.

"Listen to me—you and I both know Joe won't be forced into anything he doesn't want to do. I happen to agree with Grandma Bella that this secrecy within your family needs to come to an end. _That _is what has Joe so upset—_not _the fact that you all did whatever it took to save him from Rocco. He's hurt and angry that all of you purposefully kept him in the dark about something so vital to his life, basically excluding him from the family."

Bella nodded her gray-head in agreement. "How many times do I say to you—_tell _him, Angela? Tell Joseph what happened, so he doesn't find out in other way. Bad news like that must come from his mother, no?"

She shot off a stream of Italian that had Angie shouting back. For several minutes, I stood in my own home, completely clueless as to what was happening around me. At least the anger wasn't being directed toward me. I didn't think it was anyway.

_Aargh, what if it was?_

Finally both women calmed somewhat. I waited impatiently for a translation of their conversation, but none was forthcoming.

"I'm sorry for the disruption, Stephanie," Angela apologized stiffly, reaching for her pocket book. "I won't expect you and Joseph tomorrow, but I'll certainly welcome you both if you decide to come." She glared at Bella. "I'll be in the car."

Bella waited until Angela had walked out the door before turning to me. "Those two are cut from the same cloth—both stubborn, prideful—make me crazy. Why they not simple and gracious like me?"

It took every ounce of control I had not to laugh in her face.

"Angie thinks she's made an effort. It's Joseph's turn," Bella noted.

I knew what was coming next. "I don't want to get involved in this—"

"Too late. You already involved yourself, no? Drag him if you must, but you bring my grandson to that dinner tomorrow. Twelve sharp." She struggled to open the front door. "And be careful—big snowstorm hitting Boston tonight. We may see snow."

She shut the door in my face before I could respond.

"Aargh!" I let out in a rush, putting my hands on top of my head in frustration. "Why in God's name didn't I insist we move to Outer Slavonia when we got married? It would've made it _so _much easier to escape the insanity of our families."

Bob slunk out from behind the couch in the living area and gave me a look.

"I know. I know," I sighed heavily. "He's the best damned thing that's ever happened to either of us. And for that alone, I'm willing to put up with whatever it takes to see him happy—including his family."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

It was closing on nine o'clock by the time we finished at the crime scene.

"I have to head over to my in-law's house to meet with Jessie's social worker," I said to Rodriguez, as we hustled back to our vehicles. The wind was getting stronger by the hour. "I'll be in afterward."

"No problem. I'll get started on the reports and check with toxicology to see if they have anything."

"Thanks. Get Docsa to help you if necessary. I think he's pretty much wrapped up the case he was working on."

Manny stopped short. "That reminds me. Docsa called last night, asking if I could cover his shift for him tomorrow. Evidently, his wife got called in to work at St. Francis all day. She works in ER or something. Anyway, they don't have a sitter, and no relatives nearby to help."

As the head of the vice and homicide unit, I felt I needed to at least offer to help.

"I'll take the shift."

Rodriguez shook his head emphatically. "No way, man—not this time. Your wife just got out of the friggin' hospital, and you've worked more hours in two weeks than I probably have in two months. I wasn't looking for you to do anything. I just wanted to let you know about the switch."

"You don't have plans?"

"Nothing that can't be modified," he stressed. "I'm serious, Morelli. You need to be with your family."

The question was _could _I be with my family? Would I be able to handle the close proximity of everyone with whom I was angry without blowing a gasket and making a fool out of myself?

I hated the fact I was so torn, but I was. It'd be so easy to simply tell everyone I had to work. I could meet up with Steph later at her parent's house, and enjoy a family meal without the stress.

Unfortunately, I knew Stephanie was right. My mother's heart would be crushed if I didn't at least make an appearance at her place. No matter how angry I was with her and the rest of my family, I couldn't bring myself to disappoint her on a holiday. God knows Rocco had done enough of that on his own for years.

"You sure?" I asked, trying to read the level of sincerity on his face. "I feel badly—"

"Tell you what. I'm scheduled for Friday night as well. You take my shift, and we'll call it square."

"Fair enough. Thanks, Manny, I appreciate it."

"No sweat. See you at the precinct."

Climbing into our respective vehicles, I watched Rodriguez take off, thinking again of how lucky I was to have so many great men and women working with me. Now that the black-eye left by the Kennard mess was healing, it gave me hope for the TPD. The only wildcard left in the whole scenario was Brett Rogers, still another person from my past I'd yet to make peace with.

Would he make a good chief or not?

I headed toward the Plum household. As much as I wanted to swing by while I was in the neighborhood and check on Steph, I didn't have the time. Reaching for my cell, I knew a phone call would have to suffice for now.

"Hey hubby," she greeted in a lazy voice.

Either she'd just awakened or had eaten a really good breakfast, because I knew of only three things that could make my wife sound so content—sex, food and sleep—and in that order. Seeing as we hadn't had sex for hours, I had to assume it was one of the others.

I let out a derisive snort. "You planning on calling me that forever?" In truth, the stupid little nickname was growing on me—_not _that I'd ever tell her.

"Yep. It's a winner. Might as well get used to it."

"Lucky me." My voice softened. "Feeling okay this morning?"

"Sore," she admitted, "but it's the good kind of sore."

"There's a good kind?"

"Mmmm hmmm—the kind when you've been ravished thoroughly by the love of your life."

"Ravished, huh?"

"Thoroughly."

"And that's a good thing, right? Because I'm just a simple, blue-collar man, Cupcake. Ravished is a pretty big word."

"Yeah, right!" she scoffed. "Look it up in the dictionary. It'll be right next to the picture of you and your big head."

After the hellish morning I'd already had, it felt good to smile.

"Was it bad?" she whispered suddenly, breaking the silliness of the lighthearted moment.

_Yes—she looked just like you._

I shook my head to clear the image of the woman lying on the cold sidewalk.

"It was."

Stephanie sighed in irritation. "I forget you can't talk about it."

Technically, I wasn't supposed to tell her about police business, but now that we were married, I found it damned near impossible not to tell her everything happening in my life. _When had I come to rely on her so much? _The thought was a little disconcerting. _And did she feel the same way about me?_

"The guy used a knife on her," I offered reluctantly.

"Oh."

_Silence._

Blowing out the pressure on my chest, I continued, "I'm not really up to talking about it right now, Cupcake, okay? I need to focus. But maybe later?"

"Whatever you need—I hope you know that," she offered softly in my ear, no doubt referring to more than just a crime scene.

"Stephanie, about tomorrow—"

"Your mom and Bella were here a little bit a go."

More pressure. "Did they upset you?"

"Not really, although your grandmother was pretty insistent about our presence tomorrow."

I hesitated, and then blurted, "What about my mom?"

"She wants you to be there more than anything too, but she's not expecting it."

That had me frowning. "Why not?"

"I think that's pretty self-explanatory, don't you?"

"I guess—" My voice trailed off. I wasn't quite sure what to think.

She changed the subject before I could ask any more questions. "Are you on your way to my parent's house to meet the social worker?"

"Yeah—and then on to the precinct. I'm not sure when I'll be home, but I'll stop and pick up dinner. How about stir fry from that Asian place we like."

"No need. There's manicotti in the fridge, remember? I'll heat that up. Just give me a call before you leave."

"Manicotti, huh." My voice sounded dull to my own ears.

"It's food, Joe—nothing more."

_It sure as hell felt like more._

"I didn't say anything."

"It's what you _didn't _say," she said sardonically.

"Leave it alone, Steph—okay?" Hoping to change the subject, I asked, "So what are you up to?"

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

God, it was tempting to evade the question, but I was no longer ill, and it was time for both of us to start facing the issues from which we'd been hiding the past two weeks.

In what I hoped was a no-nonsense, matter-of-fact voice, I responded, "I'm looking through the paperwork Ranger gave me about his business proposition."

Another long silence hung between us.

"We can't put it off any longer, Joe," I went on, flustered by his lack of response. "Ranger sent me a text yesterday, letting me know he's coming home on Friday. _He_ needs an answer, and _we_ need to talk."

"You're right," he responded abruptly, surprising me. "Tonight—I promise."

"But will you listen objectively?" I pressed, knowing it was a pointless conversation if Joe couldn't keep his resentment of Ranger in check.

"Do I need to? Are you seriously interested?"

The temptation to evade the question threatened to choke me.

_You swore you'd be honest!_

"I am." I winced, waiting for the impending explosion.

He made sure to keep the tone of his voice neutral. "Well, then I guess I'll have to try to be on my best behavior and remain calm and objective." He waited a beat. "I'm not making any promises though."

_Whew. _"Fair enough." I added an extra measure of warmth to my voice, hoping I sounded carefree and positive. "I love you, hubby. See you tonight."

Rather than growl at my use of the nickname, his voice took on an amused roughness instead.

"Love you too, Cupcake."

**Joe's POV**

The county social worker was already at the Plum's house when I pulled up in front of their bi-colored duplex at nine-thirty. Traffic had been a mess all around Trenton with families anxious to get on the road toward their holiday destinations. As a result, I was almost thirty minutes late for our scheduled meeting.

I'd crossed paths with Karen O'Malley on several other cases throughout my career, and while we'd never had any issues—something you couldn't take for granted when dealing with cross-governmental agencies—I also knew from experience she was tough, punctual as heck, and could be an intimidating figure with both children _and _adults.

I shouldn't have been late.

Helen was waiting for me at the door. "They're in the dining room," she greeted in a pseudo whisper. "Better hurry. Jessie looks ready to make trouble, and Ms. O'Malley isn't impressed."

Guilt hit me hard. Maybe I'd been hasty in bringing the girl here. It was my family's culpability that had caused me to do it in the first place. I'd felt ashamed over how Paul, and to a certain extent Tony, had used this child. And now because of my remorse, I'd put my new in-laws in an awkward position as well.

"Has Jessie been giving you a hard time again? Is this too much for you and Frank to handle?" I asked earnestly, slipping off my jacket and hanging it on the coat tree in the entryway.

Helen waved her hand dismissively. "It's been nice to have a young person to feed again, and she hasn't tried to run for a couple of days now. She's eating better, and the doctor said she's fairly detoxified from the drugs too."

"Is she being respectful?"

She snorted. "As much as a teenaged girl can be respectful. She isn't as open with me, but she's been surprisingly accepting of Frank." She rolled her eyes. "And, of course, she _loves_ my mother."

That didn't surprise me. With her eccentric personality, Grandma Mazur could make friends with a doorknob.

Helen's expression turned disapproving. "She keeps asking to see your brother though. Says they love one another, and we have no right to keep them apart."

"Shit," I cursed under my breath and then immediately winced. This was my mother-in-law after all. "Sorry."

She arched one eyebrow and deadpanned, "My sentiments exactly."

The corner of my mouth lifted. Helen Plum was a real enigma—straight-laced on the outside, with a well-hidden rebel streak on the inside. The average person probably wouldn't even know it was there, but I sure did. After all, it 'took one to know one', and everyone in Trenton knew I'd been a rebel. Stephanie would never agree with me, but she and her mother were more alike than either of them wanted to admit. Helen simply covered her defiance by hiding behind Burg protocol.

Her not-so-secret supply of cooking sherry didn't hurt any either.

"Are Frank and Grandma Mazur here?"

"Frank is," she acknowledged. "The social worker requested his presence. I asked Val to take Mother down to get her hair done for Thanksgiving. No sense inviting trouble."

I let out a tired breath. My early wake-up call was catching up to me. "Okay, let's go see what the social worker has to say."

In the dining room, Frank sat in his usual seat at the table with Karen in Grandma Mazur's place and Jessie in Stephanie's. Sliding into my designated spot, I worked up a smile for the group.

"Ladies, Frank. Sorry I'm late. I've been at a crime scene all morning."

"Joe," Frank nodded, looking as though he'd rather be anyplace else than there.

Karen didn't return my smile. In her late fifties, she was as Irish as they come, setting a rather imposing figure with her bright green eyes and mop of curly red hair. At six foot two, however, she looked like a Leprechaun on a faulty batch of steroids. The woman was massive.

She gave me a piercing look upon my entrance. "Well, you're finally here now, so let's begin, shall we?"

Helen fluttered by the kitchen door. "Would anyone like coffee? I made a lovely pound cake—"

"No thank you. I think we should get straight to business," Karen declined brusquely.

My stomach reminded me I'd yet to eat that morning, and I smiled at Helen. "I'd love some. Thank you."

She seemed grateful for the opportunity to do something and slipped into the kitchen, returning almost immediately with a cup of coffee and a large plate of cake.

Jessie had her arms folded across her chest defiantly, glaring at me. "Hunh. It's about time you came to see me. I've been stuck here now for ten days, and you've only been by a couple of times."

"I've been here five times, and it's nice to see you too," I responded dryly. "I hear you're eating more. Good for you. Mrs. Plum's a good cook, isn't she?"

Ignoring me, she continued sourly, "When can I go back to Newark to see my friends? They're probably going crazy wondering where I am. No one will give me access to a cell phone or computer around here. I need to tell them I'm okay."

"Talking to your old circle of friends isn't smart, Jessica. Remember? We've talked about how important it is for you to make wise choices from now on," Karen warned in almost a singsong voice.

Jessie's eyes narrowed at the woman across the table from her. "Why do you always have to talk to me like I'm two years old? I'm nearly eighteen. In another few months, it won't matter _what _you think is right for me."

"But until then, it does matter, and I'm in charge."

"Says who?" Jessie scowled.

"Says the judge who is bending the rules by allowing you to stay here. Mr. and Mrs. Plum are not certified foster care providers. Technically, you should be downtown at the county juvenile home while we determine where is the best place for you to be."

Although she tried to remain unaffected by the statement, the teen's eyes grew rounder. "You're sending me to a home?" She turned and looked at me furiously. "You _promised _I wouldn't have to go to a foster care facility!"

"I didn't promise anything other than not to arrest you," I objected defensively. _Had I?_ "You need to calm down. Ms. O'Malley is merely pointing out that a lot of people have gone out on a limb for you—"

"I don't need any favors! If you'd just let me talk with Paul—"

Karen's gaze sharpened.

"Has she been in contact with your brother, detective?" she challenged in her no-nonsense tone. "Because I've already told Chief Rogers I was opposed to your involvement in this matter, given your association with the case. If you're aiding and abetting these two—"

"Relax—she _hasn't_ had any contact with him," I assured her. With a pointed look at Jessie, I continued, "And she's not _going _to either."

Jessie squirmed in her seat. "You can't stop me—"

"Why would you _want_ to see him?" I asked incredulously, completely ignoring the food in front of me. "He's twenty-seven years older than you are, Jessie—a grown man, with a wife and kids. His oldest daughter is only a couple of years younger than you."

"But he loves _me! _He told me so!"

"He loves _himself!_" I shot back.

_Careful, Morelli. _

Disgust simmered near the surface of my emotions. Once again I was reminded of my middle brother's sick selfishness and stupidity—both of which had nearly cost me my wife and children.

Karen opened her mouth to speak, and I held up my hand to stop her.

Lowering my voice, I continued speaking directly to Jessie. "It was _wrong _for Paul to have a relationship with you—and _not _just because he's married. You may think you're an adult, but you're not. You need people around you right now who have your best interest at heart—who will genuinely care for you and help you get on a better path."

"What if I don't want a better path?" she snapped belligerently. "Did'ya ever think about that?"

"I don't have to think. I _know _you want a better one," I returned flatly. "I know what it's like to have someone treat you terribly, Jessie—to trust an adult that's supposed to love and take care of you only to have them do despicable things with that trust."

_I knew all about monsters._

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Helen and Frank watching me in concern.

"Detective, I'm really not certain her staying here is the best scenario," Karen announced curtly.

Frank surprised me then by asking Jessie, "Ah, come on. It's not so bad, is it? I thought I was doing a good job of turning you into a sports fan."

Helen chimed in. "And you like my cooking, don't you? You've caught on so well to the lessons I've been giving you. Why the apple pie you made yesterday was just as good as mine."

"I got no beef with you folks," Jessie grudgingly acknowledged. "But I feel like I'm in prison. Why won't you let me come and go as I please?"

"It goes back to trust," I explained. "You don't trust adults, and right now we're having a hard time trusting you."

"All the more reason why she should come with me downtown," Karen observed. "Until we determine if there are other relatives who could take her or if she's a ward of the state, it would be best for her to be in a secure setting."

"I don't have any other relatives," Jessie informed the social worker bitterly. "At least none I've ever met, and even if I did, they'd be strangers too. Brian and I are the only ones left." Her eyes took on a glassy sheen. "What's going to happen to him, anyway? No one will let me see him. He's the only relative I have!"

This whole scenario sucked.

"He's going to prison, Jessie," I said quietly but firmly. "He's still in jail awaiting his trial, but there's no question he'll go to prison for the rest of his life. Bruce Jackson as well."

Jessie leaned her elbow on the table and covered her mouth with her fist. "He was a horrible brother to me, but at least he was family. I don't belong anywhere now."

"You'll be perfectly safe and well provided for at the juvenile home until you're eighteen," Karen spoke with authority. "You'll be able to finish high school, taught skills to help you cope once you're out on your own, and—"

Helen bristled. "And affection, Ms. O'Malley? What about that? Who will be there to provide for her emotionally during this difficult time?"

"There are counselors—"

"I'm not talking about a counselor!" Helen slapped the table with her open palm. "I'm talking about people with warmth and care and good common sense."

_Get a grip, Helen. _Yelling at the social worker wasn't going to help our cause any.

"Mrs. Plum—you and Mr. Plum seem like fine people, but the fact is you're both of the age where taking on a responsibility of this magnitude would be challenging."

Helen's eyebrow slid upward. "Be careful, Ms. O'Malley—I believe we're close to being of the same age."

I bit my cheek to keep from laughing. She _really _needed to stop, but I'll be damned if Helen and Steph weren't cut from the same cloth.

Karen's hackles rose as well. "I only meant—"

I quickly broke in. "Jessie, all foolishness aside—I know you think you deserve more freedom, but that isn't going to happen no matter where you are. So the question is where do you want to spend the next six months or so. Are you doing okay here?"

Jessie looked down the table at Helen and Frank, weighing her options. "It's okay," she answered gruffly. "The food's good, and Mrs. Mazur is cool." She gave Frank the eye. "It's damned near impossible to get into the bathroom though."

"Language!" Helen promptly chastised, and this time I couldn't stop the grin. How quickly she'd morphed back into the ever-so-proper Burg housewife.

This was what Jessie needed—the chance to experience a real home, as interesting as my in-laws were.

I leveled my best cop's expression on the social worker. "I'm asking you not to meddle with this right now, Karen. Jessie's had enough pain and upheaval in her life without adding the stress of trying to interact in a group home setting."

"I'm hardly _meddling, _Joe," she rejoined, giving me a frosty glare. "I'm doing my job. Now the county did you a favor, based upon Chief Rogers' request. It was an experiment, and, in my best judgment that experiment isn't working. There's too much of an opportunity for her to have contact with Paul Morelli. That simply isn't right."

"I agree it isn't the best scenario, but it's the best one we can offer her right now. She won't be in any direct contact with Paul, and she'll have an opportunity to have the best kind of support until she turns eighteen in May."

Karen addressed Stephanie's parents, "And you _really _want to take on a responsibility of this magnitude until then? Do you understand what you're agreeing to do _if _I'm able to convince a judge to allow this temporary situation to continue until completion?"

Frank and Helen exchanged a look. It was Frank who responded. "We've talked this over, and we'd like to have her stay with us for as long as she needs. There's a better path waiting for Jessie if she's willing to work toward it."

Beside me, Jessie's breath caught at his words. Mine too—for it was rare to hear Frank Plum do more than grouse and complain. There was so much more to both of my in-laws than people realized—Stephanie included. I almost wished she were there with me to hear her parents acting so admirably.

The ache in my heart left from my own father's abuse intensified. What different choices might I have made had I experienced that kind of understated leadership as a teenager?

_This isn't about you, Morelli. _

No, it wasn't, and I needed to concentrate on preventing Jessie from getting sucked into the system.

"Jessie is more than welcome to stay here until she graduates," Helen confirmed. "How are your grades, dear? Do you have a hope of finishing this spring?"

Jessie still looked stunned by their willingness to keep her with them, despite her poor attitude.

"My grades are okay. School's boring."

I couldn't have agreed with her more.

"Which probably indicates a high level of intelligence," I noted to Karen. "Smart kids often fall into the wrong crowd when they aren't challenged enough in school."

"I _know _my job, detective," she snapped. "And what do you expect to do—put her in one of the city schools? She'll fall right into the wrong crowd again."

She may've been doing her job, but the woman was getting on my nerves. She was more than fulfilling her reputation as tough as nails and unyielding as hell.

Helen spoke up again. "We'll arrange for her to be tutored here at the house. It would be too awkward to have to start over in a new school so close to graduation."

"You can't just keep her locked up here without having any contact with other young people her age. That's why the group home—"

"We know _plenty _of people through our parish who could provide opportunities for friendship," Helen argued firmly, before adding, "When the time is right."

The two women began discussing the logistics of how the Plums could provide for Jessie, while Frank listened.

"It's a good deal, kid; I'd take it," I said quietly to Jessie while the others debated. "You're not going to get a better one."

"If you'd only let me talk with Paul—"

"_Forget _Paul!" I hissed. "You're wasting your time on him. Believe me, I know."

"He's your brother! You told me at the precinct you love him."

"I _do _love him, but I also know he's an idiot. Smart, decent guys don't solicit underage girls, Jessie. He used you, and that makes me sick to my stomach. Worse yet, his poor choices nearly cost me Stephanie and our unborn children. Do you really want to mess up your whole future with a man willing to sacrifice the safety of his own family to cover his mistakes?"

She didn't answer, so I took it as an opportunity to continue. "Stay here. Get healthy. Finish up school and figure out what you want with your future. There's got to be something you're interested in."

She shrugged indifferently.

"Come on—name one thing," I baited.

She answered reluctantly. "I like kids. Teaching might be kind of cool."

"There you go," I said encouragingly. "Set a new dream. Think big. Whatever it is—I _do _promise to help you as much as I can—and so will the Plums."

Giving her a stern look, I added, "But _only _if you play straight with me. No more games—no more trying to run away. This is it, Jessie. Take it or go to the juvenile home."

She took one look at my 'no bullshit' expression and blurted loudly, "I want to stay here!"

All conversation ceased around the table.

Karen was the first to respond. "I still don't think—"

I turned my formidable expression onto her. "I don't want to fight you, Karen. We both see too much crap in this city _not _to try and work together here. Jessie wants to stay. The Plums _want_ her to stay. It's a no brainer."

"Your brother—"

"I'll take responsibility for my brother's actions," I tossed out recklessly. _Oh crap—what was I doing?_

"You will?" she pressed. "Because I'll hold you responsible, Morelli."

God, I'd committed myself now. Seeing Jessie's hopeful gaze beside me, I knew there'd be no turning back.

"You have my word."

She snapped her file folder shut. "Fine. Against my better judgment, I'll recommend to the judge, the county and the state that Jessica Stampler be awarded to the custody of Frank and Helen Plum until she becomes of age on May twenty-second of next year."

"It's the right decision, Karen."

Her gaze swept over Frank and Helen. "Despite the fact that we've put the cart before the horse and Jessica is already living here, you'll need to go through the official process of becoming foster parents, including training, home visits and the like. Are you willing to do that?"

"Certainly," Helen affirmed. "Just let us know what to do."

Standing she added, "If all parties agree and barring any hold-ups, the paperwork for guardianship should be finalized sometime in the New Year."

"What about counseling?" I asked.

"Counseling!" Jessie barked. "I don't want to talk to some dumb old shrink."

I shushed her with my hand.

"The state will provide a counselor," Karen said, "along with health benefits until she's eighteen. They'll also assist you with finding her a tutor and any other need that may come up in the next five to seven months, including remuneration for some of your other expenses such as clothing and the like."

The rest of us stood as well.

Frank extended his hand. "Thank you, Ms. O'Malley."

"Don't thank me yet. You have no idea what you've just committed yourself to, Mr. Plum. It's a red tape nightmare. And I still think you're making a poor decision."

"It's a risk worth taking," Helen replied, shooting Jessie a warm smile. "Here—I'll see you out."

"No need," the social worker said bluntly. "Jessica, I wish you the best of luck. The success of this opportunity is up to you. Take my advice. Forget you ever laid eyes on Paul Morelli and get on with the rest of your life."

She then met my gaze. "It's in your hands, detective."

Once we heard the front door click shut, Helen turned to Jessie.

"Ms. O'Malley's right. It is up to you to do your part, but it's up to us to do our part too, including making you feel as though you belong here. And I think a good place to start would be putting a fresh coat of paint on the walls of the room you'll be staying in. Maybe a new bedspread too."

"I have an even better idea," I found myself saying. _Christ, I just kept digging myself in deeper and deeper. _Whether I wanted the responsibility or not, I'd just committed myself to assisting in Jessie's care.

Everyone looked at me expectantly.

"How about on this weekend, you, Stephanie and I make a trip over to Newark to pick up some of your things from your house like clothing, your bedroom furniture and anything else you might want."

"That's a wonderful idea, Joseph," Helen chimed in.

Jessie's eyes lit up momentarily. "Really? Can I get my phone and my laptop too?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, but they'll go directly into the hands of Mrs. Plum."

"No fair!"

"When you've proven trustworthy, we'll talk."

Her expression grew stormy. "How come _you're_ making all the decisions? I'm living with _them_—not _you_!"

Deciding to be honest with her, I shot back bluntly, "Because there isn't a thing that could go on in that head of yours I haven't either thought of or done already. You're not getting around me, Jessie. Cross me, and I'll be your worst nightmare."

The two of us stared one another down. Her eyes were both wary and stormy at the same time, while mine were strong and purposeful.

Oblivious to the tension, Helen placed her hands on Jessie's shoulders from behind and gave a gentle squeeze. "Thanks for your help, Joseph. We certainly appreciate it."

"My pleasure," I responded evenly, my eyes never leaving Jessie's.

Frank was faster to pick up on the tension. Clearing his throat, he said, "Want to go see if the Price is Right is on, Jessie?"

Helen opened her mouth to protest, and he silently waved her off.

My eyes bored into Jessie's. "What's it going to be, kid? My way or the highway?"

After another uncomfortable minute, she finally shrugged her shoulders. "Whatever. Let's go watch some screen, Mr. Plum."

"It's Frank. Welcome to the family, Jessie."

Her breath caught, and she looked at me again.

A smile creased my face. "I agree. Welcome to the family."


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Happy, happy Friday! I don't know about you, but I'm SO thankful it's the weekend. Woo-hoo!

Thank you again for the wonderful feedback, especially those of you whom I couldn't thank in person.

Special thanks to Julie and Kim, my amazing content beta readers. You both knocked the ball out of the park this chapter!

* * *

Chapter Three

**Cheryl's POV**

With a huge grin and a jaunty wave, I watched the eyes of George Franklin, my parent's long-time house manager, widen in pleasure as he opened the door to me at their large and rather pretentious estate in Belmont Hill, the premier suburb of Boston. The sun was just beginning to set behind me on what had turned out to be a windy and difficult drive up from Trenton.

"Hello, Georgie Porgie," I greeted rather cheekily, practically bouncing inside my high-heeled boots with excitement over seeing him.

"Miss Cherylyn!" the rather tall and very stately black man cried out in delight. "You made it!" He threw the heavy, solid cherry door open wide and practically dragged me into the three-story foyer. "Now why on earth you be ringin' that doorbell like you some kind of guest, missy? Get on in here!"

Leaping into his waiting arms, I immediately inhaled the strong scents of English Leather and peppermint, both of which were as much a part of George as were his arms and legs. He and his wife Gertie had been with my parents from the first day they'd moved in more than forty years ago. While George took care of the estate and managed the large household and landscape staff, his wife Gertie did all of the cooking. Having had no children of their own, they'd always looked upon my brothers and me as surrogates. And although they were not my parents by blood, the two of them, particularly Gertie, were most certainly the parents of my heart.

Rolling my eyes, I made short work of taking off my heavy winter coat and handing it to George, who was looking out the side window at my worn and tired Camry parked out front. "I rang the bell, because you and I both know _Barbara _doesn't approve of anyone walking in unannounced."

George tried to maintain some semblance of decorum but couldn't prevent one side of his mouth from curling.

"Hard not to announce yo-self drivin' that old clunker of yours," he sniggered. Why, your daddy—"

"Don't _you _start on me, George. I'm going to have enough fussing from Mother all weekend."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Your mama ain't gonna put up a fuss. She 'bout ready to bust with excitement over seein' you."

"Hunh—you never did lie well," I grunted, shaking my head. "What you meant to say was _Mother _can hardly wait to start in on me."

"Mmmmm hmmmm…" he noted dryly, looking down his nose at my sleek, flat-ironed strands. "Startin' with 'yo hair. You know she like you wearin' it curly the way God blessed you with."

"There are many things I do that she'd prefer I not," I retorted in frustration.

_Easy, Cheryl—don't lose your cool sixty seconds inside the door._

With a wink, I shrugged. "It wouldn't be a holiday if Mother and I didn't get into it over something though, right? Might as well be my hair."

Scanning the open entryways into the massive dining room, the grand and formal living room and the intricately ornate ballroom, I asked edgily, "Where is everyone? It's almost cocktail hour. God forbid a Sullivan should miss a chance to socialize."

_Jesus, stop! _Even I was annoyed with my snide, little digs. It was going to be an unbearable weekend if I couldn't get my resentment toward my mother and my family's love of wealth under control.

"Your daddy got called to Washington at the last minute," George offered, emerging from the large walk-in closet off the entrance where he'd stored my coat. "He won't be home until first thing tomorrow mornin'. That is—we hope."

"What do you mean?"

"Missy, where you been? Big snowstorm gunnin' for us tonight. Your mama about fit to be tied the general might get delayed and ruin Thanksgiving. She already upset over you bein' late today. Had to go take a nap up in her room, tellin' everybody not to disturb her until dinner."

My stomach clenched reflexively. _Twenty minutes late, due to traffic, and she'd already decided I needed to be punished. So much for bustin' with excitement over seeing me._

"And Chip?" I asked in a more subdued tone.

Home from the Air Force Academy, Chip would be my saving grace that weekend. The only two Sullivan children still unmarried, he'd been my very own 'baby doll' as a little girl—someone to dress, coddle and play with. Even as adults, he remained the only family member with whom I was completely at ease.

"He's out with some of his friends from Belmont," George nodded, mentioning the impossibly preppy school for boys located within our small community. _Every _Sullivan male for four generations had attended Belmont, just as they'd attended the Air Force Academy and married blue-blooded gals from a very select group of potential candidates when the time had been deemed both appropriate and beneficial.

"I don't suppose Gertie's around," I teased, knowing full well the mention of his bride of forty-five years would cause him to smile.

Predictably, his leathery, brown face creased with two, massive dimples. "She in the kitchen," he whispered conspiratorially. "And I know she been makin' Snickerdoodles all afternoon for ya."

"My favorite," I whispered back.

He gave a loud guffaw. "Don't I know it!" Jerking his head toward the kitchen, he added, "Go on now. I get your luggage and move that car of yours out of your mama's sight. Gertie be right upset if she knew I was hoggin' you like this."

Leaning up on tiptoes, I gave one of those dimples a big kiss. "You hog me all you'd like, Georgie Porgie. It's good to see you."

He chuckled at the term of endearment I'd been calling him since I was two years old. "Welcome home, Miss Cherylyn. It's good to have our girl back where she belongs."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Quit the bullshit, Rodriguez. That isn't even remotely funny."

It was five thirty. I'd been working thirteen hours straight trying to catch up with the other cases being handled by the vice and homicide unit, and I wasn't in the mood for jokes.

Manny slapped the file folder he'd been holding in his hand down onto my desktop. His face was shadowed. "Do I look like I'm kidding around? Read it yourself."

I stared at the pictures, along with the report beside it, grimacing at the cold reality being laid before me.

"He took her heart?"

"Yep. Scooped it right out of her."

"Jesus," I muttered, my stomach lurching at the disgusting notion.

Rodriguez plopped down in the chair across from my desk. "As you can see, he raped her first—multiple times, according to Frances Ling. There are no traces of fingerprints or semen. It appears the guy suited up on all fronts."

"What else?" I forced myself to examine the photos. _She looked so much like Stephanie with that curly hair._

"Multiple lacerations from the knife, but the heart is the only organ missing," Manny broke into my reverie. "That's all from our people. The ME's backed up and won't get to the autopsy until at least Friday because of the holiday. But our best guess is the guy saved the heart for last."

Swallowing hard, I asked in a slightly hoarse voice. "Who is she?"

He slunk in his chair, stretching long legs out in front of him. "Name's Candy Netz—nineteen years of age. She's one of the new strippers down at Domino's. It took all day to get a positive ID. She didn't have any form of identification on her—no purse either—so we had to use DNA."

"That was no robbery," I observed disgustedly.

"No, it wasn't," Rodriguez agreed. "I'm guessing she either left the purse at the club or didn't bring it to work with her at all. I've got a couple of uniforms over there checking with the owner. Davis and Docsa are searching her apartment right now as well."

"Her address in the file reads Lafayette. That's down near Stark. So the guy obviously picked her up, mutilated her at another location and then dumped her on Stuart."

Manny nodded. "So it would seem. We're going to get copies of the tapes from the security cameras and start reviewing them ASAP."

"Has anyone contacted her family?"

"I did. No family in Trenton. She's from Wichita, Kansas—some farm girl who left home to become a model in New York City and ended up stripping in Trenton instead. Wouldn't be the first time some poor kid was dazzled by lights and done in by darkness."

I couldn't stop staring at the pictures.

Rodriguez stood. "I don't know about you, but I'm beat. We both need food and sleep. We've got the next shift working it as hard as possible, and the rest will have to keep for another couple of days."

My stomach growled at the mention of food. Helen's pound cake had been hours ago. I'd been so wrapped up in work all day, I hadn't even checked in on Stephanie after our brief call that morning. Guilt tickled my conscience. It was time to let the detective rest and go home and be a husband for a while. Unfortunately, being a husband would include having to find out what Manoso's business deal was all about. Part of me was chomping at the bit to know, and the other was dreading the answer.

I stood as well. "You sure you're okay with working tomorrow?"

"Just as long as you take Friday night," he agreed. His expression turned crafty. "I got a hot date planned."

"Uh-huh—the secretary from Crimes Against Property?"

He scoffed. "Hell no! I told you that was a _dream_, Morelli. I got to work my way up to someone of her caliber." He gave me a roguish look. "We aren't all Casanova's like you."

"Yeah, that's me," I snorted indelicately. "The Casanova who took three years to get the girl of his dreams to say yes."

"Sorry, friend—your prowess is legendary."

I barked out a cynical laugh. "That prowess is part of what kept her from saying yes!"

_But she had said yes. _And it was time to get home and tell Stephanie how grateful I was for that very fact.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

A key scraped in the back door a few minutes before six o'clock, followed by the sound of boots stomping in the kitchen.

"Steph? I'm home," Joe called. "You should see it outside. I bet there's already two inches of snow on the ground. Cupcake?"

I'm not sure who got more excited—Bob or me—but we both scrambled to our feet. Had I not been sacked out on the couch, I probably would've beaten him to the door. As it was, Bob had Joe on the floor by the time I managed to get into the kitchen.

Smiling at the scene before me, I greeted my husband with a simple, "Hey."

"Hey yourself," he groused good-naturedly while trying to disentangle himself from the dog. His cheeks were red from the cold; his hair completely disheveled from the wind and covered in snowflakes. To heck with Thanksgiving turkey, I was about ready to gobble _him_ up right then and there.

After giving Bob a full body rub, Joe stood and took off his boots and jacket, hanging the latter on a peg on the wall. Turning, he shot me a crafty grin.

"You gonna give me a greeting like Bob's?"

"You bet your perfect ass I am," I retorted smartly. Leaping forward with reckless abandon, he managed to catch me mid-air. My arms and legs wrapped around the hard length of his waist and upper body and clung.

Hugging me close, his voice murmured near my ear. "Missed you today."

"Mmmmmmm…missed you too," I agreed, arching my neck in pleasure at the feel of his beard against my skin.

My fingers plunged into his long hair, and I quite literally attacked his mouth. After nearly two weeks in the hospital surrounded by well-meaning but pesky nurses, fourteen hours spent alone had left this Burg girl lonesome and needy.

Finally breaking the kiss, Joe teased, "You plan on greeting me like this every day for the next sixty years, Cupcake?"

I was still reveling in my freedom from the hospital and the fact Joe and I were home _together_ after the constant anxiety that'd plagued us since the wedding. Even though we'd been married for a month, it felt as though we were just now finally beginning our 'happily ever after' together.

"Until my arthritic knees give out," I promised breathlessly.

He pressed his forehead against mine. "How are you feeling? Did you get some rest today?"

"I'm tired of resting," I answered petulantly, sticking out my lower lip.

"Can't blame you for that." His eyebrows waggled playfully. "Why don't I see if I can give you a little excitement now that I'm home."

After several minutes spent previewing his version of excitement, I think we both were seriously contemplating skipping dinner and heading directly upstairs for dessert. Joe's stomach had other ideas though and chose that inopportune time to let out the biggest growl I'd ever heard, effectively dousing the mood better than a bucket of cold water.

Pulling back, I stated the obvious. "You're hungry."

"I'm fine," he denied huskily, dipping his head back down to continue where we'd left off.

My hands pushed against his shoulders. "Like hell you are. I bet you haven't eaten all day, have you."

He shrugged. "I had some of your mother's pound cake this morning."

"Omigod! I completely forgot! How did the meeting go?"

"Tough—but in the end it was good. Jessie is allowed to stay with your parents until she turns eighteen in May."

His answer floored me. "And my parents _wanted _that?"

Somehow I couldn't imagine them—especially my father—wanting to take on such a huge responsibility.

"_Your _parents were friggin' amazing," Joe stressed. "Both of them were. I thought your mom was going to haul off and slug the social worker. And your dad couldn't have been sweeter with Jessie."

"_Really?"_

He imitated my flabbergasted face. "_Really. _Don't underestimate them, Steph. I know they drive you crazy at times, but they're good people. They raised you, didn't they?"

A shadow crossed his face, and immediately, I knew he was thinking of his own family. Somehow I had to help him see that despite the poor decision to keep Rocco's death a secret, the Morellis were still good people too—well, at least some of them.

_And perhaps you need to have a better appreciation of your own crazy family. _Ignoring my conscience, I squirmed in Joe's arms, until he finally let me down.

"Dinner's ready. Let me just set the table."

"Huh-uh, I'm hungrier for something _else_," he hinted suggestively, reaching out to pull me back to him and recapture the mood.

I dodged his grasp. "Me too, but I'm not having you pass out from starvation right in the middle of the best part!" Pointing toward the table, I ordered, "Sit. Your wife is going to serve you."

His lip curled in amused wonder. "Yeah? You planning on doing that for the next sixty years too?"

"No—you can pretty much consider this a one-shot deal, " I retorted good-naturedly, "and it's not even my food. But—" I paused dramatically. "—It _is_ your favorite. Manicotti from Mom."

Joe's relaxed demeanor instantly disappeared. He waited a full two beats before saying, "You know? I haven't had a beer in weeks. I'm thinking one sounds pretty good right about now."

He brushed past me and opened the fridge, pointedly changing the subject. "How was the rest of your day?"

_Hunh! So much for our 'happily ever after'._

Letting out a longsuffering sigh I didn't even try to hide, I reached around him to remove a tossed salad and set it on the counter. "It was good. Yours?"

"I've had worse," he noted in a clipped tone, taking a long pull on his beer. Both of us knew that wasn't saying much. Working in vice and homicide didn't offer many good days.

Really looking into his face for the first since he arrived home, I noticed the fatigue lining his eyes. He needed a break—even if only to eat a simple dinner in peace.

"Sit down, Morelli," I suggested, giving him a gentle nudge with my hip.

"No. I'll help," he objected. He reached for a plate of breadsticks on the counter. "I don't expect you to wait on me. You know that—at least I hope you do."

"It's enough having you home. I've got the rest tonight."

His fingers reached up to cup my cheek. "I love you, Stephanie. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Don't ever doubt that."

"I love you too. Let's not talk about anything heavy until after dinner, okay?"

"No—I want to tell you about this morning," he objected quietly. "I wanted to tell you when we spoke on the phone this morning, but the scene was still too raw. You know what I mean?"

That surprised me. Joe's unwillingness to share confidential information related to his job had always been a major sore spot between the two of us in the past. I could hardly believe he was volunteering to do so now.

"It's not exactly dinner conversation though," he added grimly.

Not wanting to miss my window of opportunity, I hastened to assure him, "I can handle it. God, look at the shit I've dealt with over the years. You can trust—"

"I know I can trust you," he countered seriously. "That's not the issue. It isn't even about the confidentiality. These days I don't give a flying fuck what the TPD thinks or requires. You're my wife now, and I want to share every part of my life with you. No more secrets."

A momentary sense of guilt threatened to ruin the moment. In addition to his family, I too had been one to hurt Joe terribly with my penchant for secrets.

_He's forgiven you, Stephanie. Move on!_

"Then what it is it?" I pressed, turning away from him to snap off the oven. "We can eat dinner later. You need to tell me what's eating at _you_."

Taking his hand, we walked into the living area where Joe sunk down onto the couch and immediately pulled me onto his lap. The fact that he hadn't tried to put me off told me exactly how much he really did want to share every aspect of his life with me. That realization alone did more to boost my self-confidence than anything else had up to that point in our fledgling marriage.

He truly needed me as much as I needed him. _What a stunning and glorious truth!_

Joe closed his eyes briefly, as if recapturing the scene, and began. "When I got there this morning, Carl and Big Dog didn't want me to look at the body," he began quietly. "The victim was a nineteen year old girl—and—uh—she looked very much like you."

He shook his head, and opening his eyes, shifted to face me directly. "That's not true. She looked almost _exactly_ like how you did fifteen years ago."

I swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. That wasn't exactly what I'd thought he was going to say, and the image he'd placed in my mind was downright creepy after my own ordeal with Bulldog. My hands began to tremble, and I quickly stuck them under my armpits so Joe wouldn't notice.

"After the initial shock wore off, I knew the case had nothing to do with you, but—" He paused and pulled me even closer. "Yeah, that first look was pretty disconcerting."

"I'll bet," I said in a shaky voice, still feeling on edge for some reason. I strove for a firmer tone. "How did she die?"

Joe ran a hand around the back of his neck, clearly hesitating. "I know you don't want to hear me say this, but—"

Understanding dawned.

"It's confidential information. I get it," I assured him. "You can trust me."

He dropped a brief kiss on my lips. "I know I can, and I don't know what I'd do without you. Her name was Candy Netz. Some poor farm girl from Kansas who ended up stripping at Dominos."

"Oh no."

"She was brutally raped and then killed with a knife. It—uh—"

"What?"

"It wasn't a single stab wound." His warm, brown eyes begged me to understand. "The guy was angry—and vicious."

_Bulldog had been angry and vicious. He would've thought nothing of killing our babies and me._

_Stop thinking about Bulldog!_

"How horrible." I couldn't fathom what that poor child had endured—or me for that matter.

"He took her heart, Stephanie."

"What?" The question was nothing more than an exhalation of breath. I think my own heart stopped beating at his statement, and it was enough to snap me from my reverie over my own recent trauma.

"I know. It's unthinkable really," Joe observed. "I can't quite wrap my mind around it either."

"It wasn't DeChooch was it?"

"What? No! God no—he's locked away. Don't even give him another thought."

"So it's some other sick maniac who likes to steal body organs."

"Evidently."

"Any suspects? Motive?"

"Nothing. We just found out her identity this afternoon. She didn't have any form of identification on her."

I shook my head in amazement. "My God, Morelli, you've just confirmed something I've known for years."

"What's that?"

"You have a truly shitty job."

He leaned his head back against the top of the couch. "That I do."

"What's next?"

"I've got a couple of guys working tonight, but neither the ME _or _forensics is going to be able to give me what I need until at least Friday. We're sort of stuck in slow motion until then."

Nestling my nose into the crook of his neck, I breathed in the warm, woodsy scent of Joe's cologne. How many years had we both fought this kind of intimacy—Joe with his rigid code of honor and me with my fight or flight tendencies? I was finally learning that the more my husband shared with me, the more I wanted to connect with him and give back that same sense of trust.

Nudging me back to see my face, Joe stared into my eyes. I could see the muscles in his throat working, and suddenly I knew exactly what he wanted to say but couldn't.

"It wasn't me, Joe," I assured him. My own uneasiness seemed to calm at the words. "I'm okay, and so are the babies."

"It was just hard seeing her after nearly losing you so recently," he admitted. "You'll never know how scared I was, Cupcake. When I thought I'd lost you in that swamp—" his voice choked, and he stopped, hugging me close once again.

"I know," I whispered into the cords of his neck. "I never want to be without you either."

We sat there for several minutes in comfortable silence, relishing the security of being in our home together. That is—until _both _of our stomachs gave loud growls.

"You need to eat," he urged, rubbing a proprietary hand over my stomach. "Our children are hungry."

"So are you," I reminded him. Hopping off of his lap, I added, "Let me just set the table."

"Don't go to the trouble. Here at the coffee table is good enough," Joe replied. "I'll clear off a space."

Leaning forward, he began to remove items from the surface, when his eyes lit upon the folder Ranger had given me at the hospital about purchasing the bonds agency. My heart immediately thudded in response. No matter how much I'd tried to prepare, I still wasn't ready to face that particular discussion we'd managed to avoid for two weeks.

His eyes never leaving the file, Joe said evenly, "While we eat, you can tell me about this deal with Manoso."

_Oh shit. _It was time.

Old habits instinctively took over, and I joked weakly, "Don't you think _that _particular conversation might cause heartburn if we have it while we eat?"

"Probably!" he snorted. "But it has to be done, so we might as well fill our stomachs while we do."

"But—" I hedged nervously.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

My eyes lifted to meet hers. I could see how anxious she was. After how supportive she'd been in listening to me talk about my job, I needed to at least give her the same consideration—even if _any _conversation with Ranger's name in it automatically raised my blood pressure by at least thirty points.

Letting out a slow breath, I tried to smile.

"Stephanie—I'm not going to attack you."

"I know." She fidgeted with the hem of her sweatshirt. "I just don't want to fight."

"Which we're bound to do."

"Exactly."

"What if I promise to try and listen objectively?"

She raised an eyebrow, giving me a doubtful look.

"I know. It's unlikely, but I'll try."

_Oh Jeez_—now she was chewing on the end of her thumbnail. She was working herself up into a nervous ball of worry, and that couldn't be good for the babies.

"Steph—"

"Okay. But remember—you promised."

Though my jaw was locked in place I managed a smile. "I did."

"Alright, let's get our dinner, and we'll try."

Five minutes later, we were both seated at the coffee table with heaping plates of my mother's manicotti, salad and breadsticks. In a way, I was grateful for the distraction of having to talk about Manoso. It would force me to think about something else other than the fact that Ma had made all this food out of love for me, despite our current state of estrangement. My guilt over our estrangement was rapidly escalating.

Taking a huge bite of Italian Nirvana, I nudged Stephanie's foot with my own and purposely used her nickname to try and relax her.

"Okay, Cupcake, no more excuses. Let's do this."

She gave a single nod, almost as if encouraging herself. "Right. So I told you Ranger has this idea he wants to buy out Vinnie and take over the bonds office."

"Does Vinnie share the same vision?" I immediately wondered.

"Evidently," she shrugged. "He told Ranger he wants to take Lucille and retire down in Florida."

That surprised me. "Vinnie? Retire? He's not much older than we are."

"Beats me. Guess the little rat's tired of the race."

"Do you think Ranger threatened him somehow?"

"No, although he did share with Vinnie the obvious—about your displeasure in how Vinnie treated me over leaving, along with the fact he willingly hired Bulldog without doing a thorough background check _or _abiding by the rules."

Her eyes went all squinty. "Speaking of which, Ranger said Vinnie's been running an illegal operation since 2009, and I should've had five years of law enforcement experience _and _a license in order to work there. You had to have known this. Why the hell didn't you ever say anything to me?"

_Crap._

I'd never intended on having _this _particular conversation.

"Uh—"

She glared at me accusingly. "You _did _know!"

"Of course I knew," I acknowledged rather defensively. "I'm a cop! I know the law, Stephanie."

Her mouth dropped. "Then why didn't you—?"

"Why do you think I was always pushing you so hard to find another job?" I demanded, spearing another piece of manicotti with a little more force than necessary. "But at the time, Chief Ferguson gave me strict orders not to interfere."

"Interfere? Interfere with what?"

"I don't know. I'm assuming it had something to do with Harry."

"The Hammer?" She was dumbfounded.

"You know any other Harrys associated with Vinnie's business?"

_Cool the sarcasm, Morelli. _Just because I was suddenly feeling uncomfortable didn't mean I needed to take it out on my wife.

"Wait—you're saying the TPD was somehow in collusion with Harry and Vinnie?"

Shrugging, I pointed at her food to remind her to keep eating. "Nothing I could prove."

"You looked into it!"

"Of course I looked into it!" I responded exasperatedly. "I love you, Stephanie! But Ferguson found out I was digging and ordered me to stop. Given his crooked alliance with Mayor Bradley and Luke Kennard, it's no stretch he'd be in collusion with Harry too. Whether Vinnie was involved or not, I have no idea. Hard to imagine he wasn't, but I have no proof."

My stomach churned remembering the powerless frustration I'd endured for three years, worrying about the woman I loved and what was going on that I didn't know about. Stephanie looked torn as to whether to be angry or fearful she'd spent three years in the dark clueless about any of this.

_God, and just how well did I know THAT feeling?_

She frowned. "Do you think they were using me somehow?"

"No," I hastened to assure her. "If I thought that, I would've dug harder—believe me."

"Then what the hell was going on?"

"While I don't have solid proof, my best guess is originally Morty Byers was more than likely hooked up with Ferguson and Harry somehow. For what—I don't know. I think Vinnie hired you on a whim while Morty was out from his appendectomy. Ranger had already started to pull back a bit, and Vinnie had a stack of skips pilling up."

"So you believe Vinnie broke the law by hiring me out of desperation?"

"Yeah, and I think after Morty blew up in my vehicle, Ferguson probably got nervous that something would come out about his association with him and The Hammer. More than likely that's why he turned his head the other way when you continued to work for Vinnie. And Vinnie probably figured if no one was going to stop him—why mess with a good thing."

Stephanie leaned her elbow on the table and clutched her forehead. "This makes no sense."

"I know it doesn't," I agreed, tossing down my fork. I couldn't eat anymore. The manicotti could've been liver for as much as I was enjoying it. This little trip down memory lane was going to require Maalox in a minute, and we hadn't even gotten to the deal with Manoso yet.

"You have no idea how many times I started to tell you about what I suspected," I continued bitterly. "For all I know, some of the State boys could've been involved with them too."

"What stopped you from telling me?"

"Ferguson would warn me to mind my own business. At first he'd use the trouble I caused the TPD when I was FTA as leverage. Later it was our relationship."

"Wait—he threatened _you!_"

"Not threaten—at least not in a way that immediately made me suspect him personally. But it was enough that I felt the constant need to protect you. It's why I was never too far away—even when you and I were supposedly on the outs with one another."

"This is friggin' unbelievable!" Stephanie marveled, setting down her fork as well. "I can't believe I've spent the past three years working in the midst of all this secrecy. I feel sick!"

I didn't answer at first. I couldn't. I knew exactly how she was feeling. I'd been living with that same sense of betrayal for weeks. And it made me sick to my stomach knowing I'd done the same thing to the most important person in the world to me.

Sensing what I was thinking, Stephanie reached over and took my hand. "I'm sorry. This is exactly how you've been feeling too—only on a much deeper level."

"Nothing to be sorry about," I responded regretfully. "There's no grading of feelings. I can understand how you feel, and _I _feel like shit for not having just told you what I suspected all those years ago."

"No!" she cut in forcefully. "You did what you felt you had to do to protect me—" Her voice softened. "—Just as your mother did what she felt she had to do to protect _you. _We all have to stop blaming ourselves for the past, and you and I need to concentrate on the future—our future."

Hard as it would be—she was right.

Clearing my throat, I said, "Then let's get back to Manoso."

Stephanie let out another steadying breath. "Okay." She picked up a breadstick and began to nibble—mostly, I suspected, for something to do with her hands. "When Ranger and I had lunch at Rossini's that day, he kept badgering me about working. I don't think he believed me when I told him you didn't have an issue with me having a job after the babies are born."

"No surprise there," I snorted in derision.

She tossed me one of her supposedly intimidating looks that only ever served as a complete and total turn on to me. "Be good! You promised—"

"Just making an innocent observation, Cupcake."

"Innocent, my ass!" she muttered under her breath. Louder, she added, "_Anyway, _after offering to give me a job at Rangeman—" My eyes flashed, and she hastily added, "—which I promptly _turned down_, he asked me what I thought my skills were."

I smiled. "And you said you were good with people, creative, a fast thinker and able to see the big picture, right?"

Her mouth fell open. "Not in those exact words, but pretty much. How did you know?"

I couldn't stop my lips from twitching in a slight smirk. "I'm your husband, Cupcake. _Nobody _knows what your strengths and abilities are more than I do."

She flushed from the praise. _God, she really was the sexiest woman I'd ever known—innocent and uncertain one minute and a regular hellcat the next. _I was really wishing we didn't have to go through this bullshit with Ranger and just enjoy one another in every sense. But I'd made a promise, and I needed to keep it.

Stephanie still looked dazed. "Ranger said those qualities would make a good manager."

"He's right. But how is it he decided you should be manager of the bonds agency?

"Vinnie threw him that curveball of having to train Lula in exchange for the right to go after Tony. Somewhere in the midst of that whole experiment, the notion of buying Vinnie out was born in Ranger's mind."

I couldn't help but admire the idea. It really was the perfect fit for Stephanie. If only Manoso weren't involved and it was legal, I'd jump on the idea.

"The plan is we'd be partners—his sixty to my forty," she continued. "I would run the place, and Lula and Tank would train the employees."

"Lula and Tank." Much as I tried, I couldn't keep the skepticism out my voice.

"You know for yourself how awesome Tank is, and Ranger plans to stick with Lula until she's fully trained too. He wants to send us to a sixteen-hour course the State offers to obtain our bond enforcement licenses. He's also requiring me to take a couple of classes at the community college in management and basic accounting."

"Uh-huh." I had a bad feeling I knew where this conversation was headed. "And exactly how is Manoso planning on you being able to take the State certification? There's still that pesky little rule of five years law-enforcement experience. Does he intend to pick up where Vinnie left off and ignore the system? Or does he already have his own sources in government who'll look the other way?"

"Neither exactly," she hedged.

My eyebrows lifted, knowing Ranger's real game was about to start_. _"What does _not exactly _mean?"

Stephanie bit her lip before confessing, "He's hoping you'll assist us by getting Rogers to help us circumvent the system."

"Oh, he is, is he?" My tone may have sounded benign, but there was no mistaking my facial expression. I was fast on my way to becoming well and truly pissed. "And how exactly does he figure I'm going to do that?"

"Ranger thinks Rogers has put you through hell both personally and professionally."

I rolled my eyes. "Somehow I don't imagine Manoso said that out of concern for me. What does he want?"

"Well—" she paused again, looking for the right words.

"Spit it out, Steph." I was trying hard to keep my cool, but I could feel the frustration building. "It's time to lay it on the line. What. Does. He. Want?"

"He feels Rogers owes you, and you owe Ranger for the help he gave you on the Kennard Case as well as with the situation a few weeks ago. If you agree to help _him_ get the State to make an exception for Lula, Tank and me, he'll consider it payment in full."

"Lucky me," I quipped snidely. "So what? I'm supposed to just waltz into Rogers' office and demand he put his own career as potential police chief on the line by making a deal with the State and hope everyone else falls in line with Manoso's plan?"

Shit, my emotional pot was about to explode. I needed self-control—and fast.

Stephanie sensed it too. "Joe—"

"Don't 'Joe me', Stephanie. This is insanity, and you know it!"

_Uh-oh. Too late._

"Ranger—"

"Can go to hell as far as I'm concerned," I burst out angrily. "I'm finished with this guy interfering in our lives!"

I had to move. The annoyance building inside me needed an outlet. Standing, I began to pace the small space in front of the fireplace.

"He spent three years trying to entice you into a relationship with him, regardless of the fact you and I were together through most of that time. But did I kick his ass? No! I stupidly kept my mouth shut, thinking I'd force you into his arms by being too demanding. I went so far as to lower myself and admit to him _I _was an idiot for not having told you how I felt from the very beginning."

"I know," Stephanie murmured, but I barely heard her. My hands started waving of their own accord.

"I was sensitive to the fact he might be the father of your child and kept him in the loop on everything happening with the paternity test. Despite my own elation over being the father, I felt sorry for him when it was clear he wasn't and encouraged you two to maintain a friendship."

"Which was generous," my wife noted, not in the least intimidated by my Italian rant—yet another reason why I loved her. The woman was no petal in the wind.

"Out of sheer desperation, I hired him to find my brothers, knowing full well he was going to hose me on the cost. I told him no price was too high—except for you. And what does he do? He doesn't even have the balls to talk to me. Instead, he connives his way into your hospital room and lays out this cockamamie song and dance about being _partners_ with you strictly to stick it to me."

I stopped pacing to scowl at her. "I bet he didn't even ask for money. He probably asked for forty percent of your body!"

The hurtful words flew out of my mouth like bullets, and I regretted them immediately.

Stephanie shot me that little 'death glare' of hers again—only this time it worked. I felt properly chagrined. Too bad my ego wasn't ready to collaborate.

"That was a low blow, Morelli!" she seethed. "You promised—"

Pressing my thumb and forefinger over the bridge of my nose, I nodded in agreement.

"I know. I know. You're right. That was uncalled for." My voice turned to steel. "But you have _no_ idea, Steph, what it's like to be continually undermined and emasculated by such an unscrupulous bastard."

I'd spoken the truth. No way in hell could she possibly understand the torturous nights I'd spent knowing he was with her, touching her body in ways that totally desecrated everything Stephanie and I had experienced together. Yes, I'd made my own share of mistakes—_more _than my fair share—but I'd at least been willing to admit them. Manoso apologized for nothing and acknowledged even less. It was if he felt there was a special set of rules that applied only to him—almost as if he really believed he were some sort of superhero.

"That same bastard risked everything to help you save me," she reminded me recklessly, jarring me from my dark thoughts.

_Was she serious?_ Like I needed a reminder of just what Manoso had been willing to do to help me save her.

"For Christ's sake, don't you think I know that?" I shot back furiously and paced some more. "But he didn't do it out of any sense of loyalty to me. He did it, because he's insanely in love with _you_!"

I honestly felt sick to my stomach. It was all just so goddamned aggravating! Why couldn't she see the toll his constant presence in our lives was taking on me, especially in conjunction with all that was happening with my family? Ranger wasn't letting her go. Shit, just the opposite—now he wanted _more_ of her.

I stopped dead in my tracks and pinned her with an anguished glare. "Do you have any idea how it feels to know another man loves my wife as much as I do?"

Instead of showing compassion, Stephanie instantly bristled, which told me her insecurity was being threatened as well.

"There are plenty of women who—"

"_Love, _Stephanie—not _lust! _How can you even begin to compare the two?"

She dropped her fork, stunned at my outburst.

Silence hung between us for several uncomfortable moments while we both tried to regain control.

She surprised me then by backing down, tears in her eyes. "You're right, and I'm sorry. That was stupid on my part. There is no comparison between the women you've had in the past versus the relationship I had with Ranger _while _you and I were together."

Dropping down onto the couch, I scrubbed my hands through my hair.

"No—I'm the one who should be sorry," I apologized wearily. "I promised I'd listen objectively, and I blew that promise to hell. Please forgive me."

She shrugged, a single tear sliding down her right cheek. "Given our history, it's hard for you to hear anything Ranger says or wants without looking for hidden meanings. I need to do a better job of remembering that."

"And I need to do a better job of letting the past go."

"I feel the same way sometimes," she nodded. "If it helps you any, I questioned him at the hospital too."

My head lifted to study her. "You did?"

"Of course!" She wiped away the tear, looking upset to think I'd believe otherwise. "I was just as leery when he first brought up this whole notion. I knew you wouldn't be happy about it, and quite frankly, neither was I."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

_Patience Joe_.

"_Why_ weren't you happy about it?"

Stephanie lifted herself onto the couch beside me. "Because I don't want to be put into any more uncomfortable situations. I don't want innuendos or flirtation. I don't want to have to explain myself anymore to anyon_e_. I want to be Ranger's friend—yes—maybe even his partner. But only a partner in _business_."

She stared at me with raw emotion on her face. "Joe, I am so completely in love with you—and _only _you_. _You have to believe me. There isn't a single fiber in my body that wants to be with Ranger in any other way—and never will be again."

"I know—" I responded guiltily. And I _did _know, goddamn it.

_What was wrong with me? Why did I continually allow Manoso to threaten me when I knew Stephanie and I belonged to one another in every way? _I was afraid the answer was hidden somewhere within the insecurity I felt toward the rest of my family.

She slid her hands down my chest to pick up my hand and run it over the almost indecipherable swelling in her belly. As always, the thrill of her pregnancy raced through me, eating away at the anger and jealousy like fire eating up gasoline.

"I'm having two of _your_ babies, Morelli. Now I may not be the most religious person in the world but I see that as a friggin' miracle—don't you? And what's even more miraculous is that you've forgiven me for all of my past selfish immaturity."

The grinding in my stomach slowly began to ease. Still caressing her belly with the tips of my fingertips, I smiled. "It goes both ways. You've forgiven me too, Cupcake."

She returned my smile in such an alluring way, that if I hadn't felt so convicted we needed to settle this matter regarding Ranger I would've seduced her right then and there. My blue jeans grew uncomfortably tight knowing what I wanted to do with her.

Reading my mind, she climbed onto my lap, facing me, and leaned in to brush my lips with a kiss.

"I love you, Joseph Morelli."

It was the first time I'd heard the word Joseph in days where I hadn't felt like cringing.

"I love you too," I pledged in a rough voice, brushing back the hair from her forehead. "I can't lose you, Stephanie. You and the babies are the only thing that matter to me."

"You're not losing anybody—and especially not to Ranger," she vowed, kissing me again.

_Hmmm… forgetting the deal with Manoso was sounding better and better._

She pulled back a fraction. "But I _am _interested in this opportunity. One day spent here by myself at home, and I already know I'll go out of my mind if I don't have something to occupy my brain other than binkies and diapers."

She was right. Stephanie had too much energy, creativity and love of people to stay at home. The very essence of her would be lost—and neither of us wanted that.

"I called Ranger on the carpet that day at the hospital," she continued. "He knows there's no chance I'd ever leave you for him."

I nodded seriously. "I believe you said that to him, but that doesn't mean _he_ believed it."

"I asked him pointblank what he wants from me."

"And his response was?"

"He acknowledged you and I were right for one another. He said he wasn't trying to come between us. In his words, he wants 'my abilities, my talent and my friendship'."

"Friendship," I repeated doubtfully.

The word was a bitter pill I just couldn't seem to swallow—not because I was against the idea, but because I had too hard a time believing Manoso's sincerity.

"Exactly how much is this forty percent ownership going to cost?"

Stephanie reached over to the end table where I'd left Ranger's proposal. Flipping through the paperwork, she stopped and pointed at a number.

"A hundred grand?" I managed to say the words without choking. "How the hell does he think you and I are going to come up with money like that?"

Stephanie looked sheepish. "He knows about the reward money Mrs. Comensoli gave you after the Kennard Case."

I wasn't even about to ask how he found out. I'm sure I didn't want to know.

"I don't know how much is left of the hundred fifty thousand," Stephanie admitted nervously. "The wedding had to have cost a fortune. You gave the travel agent all but fifty thousand of it, didn't you?"

"This isn't about the money," I said stiffly, "although where the hell Manoso came up with that number is beyond me. Buying out Vinnie isn't going to be cheap."

"Ranger knows that. He's taking on the bulk of the investment and merely wants a token of our good faith."

"Good faith." _God, I sounded like a freakin' parrot!_

The frown was back. "Don't go there, Morelli." She paused for the briefest of seconds. "So—uh—is there any money left?"

"I told you the night of the rehearsal dinner I put fifty grand away for our kids' college education. The rest was for the wedding."

Stephanie's shoulders slumped. "Okay," she nodded, trying to appear unfazed. "I'll tell him—"

"The travel agent didn't use all of the hundred thousand. She gave me back about thirty of it."

"That's still not enough." Her eyes dropped down to look at her hands.

"No, it's not."

"Well—okay then."

I hated hearing the disappointment in her voice.

A heavy silence settled between us while I thumbed through the paperwork Ranger had given her. On the surface everything looked legit. He'd obviously put a lot of thought into how the business would be structured and what he expected of Stephanie in her role as manager. The training alone would be well worth her time, and there was no question she was more than capable of doing the job.

My eyes fell upon the name of the proposed business—M&M Bond Enforcement. _Well, wasn't that just sweet?_ _Jesus, now he wanted to forever link our name with his!_ I must've stared at that paper for five minutes while a multitude of thoughts swirled through my brain.

Finally breaking the silence, I repeated quietly, "It's _not_ about the money. You know that. If I thought this was a good thing for our family, I'd find the money. I'm just not convinced that Ranger's motives are on the up and up."

She forced herself to look me fully in the face. "I understand."

"Do you? Really?" I pressed. "Because I know in the past you haven't wanted to hear that Ranger's business doesn't always operate within the law."

"I know. It's the cars—"

"Hell, yes, it's the cars—and the weapons _and_ the employees _and_ the tactics used on jobs _and_ the—"

She waved her hand in surrender. "I get it."

"I'm a cop, Steph. What would it say if my wife was involved with a known mercenary, who disregards the law at whim to suit his own purposes?"

"I hadn't really thought about it that way," she confessed regretfully.

"Not to mention there's zero guarantee I'd be able to convince Rogers of anything. Word is the governor's almost finished putting the new city council together. They'll have a decision by the end of the year as to whether or not he keeps the position of chief. I can't imagine him being willing to do anything that could potentially lose him that title at this stage of the game."

"I didn't think of that either." She was still sitting on my lap and moved to climb off. "I'm sorry."

Pulling her back into my embrace, I gave her a hug. "Don't be sorry. It makes me sad I can't leap right in with both feet and support your dreams, but there's just too much at stake here."

"Okay," she nodded bravely, trying valiantly to hold in her discontent. "I'll tell him on Friday."

"_We'll _tell him on Friday," I corrected firmly. "I want to talk to Manoso face-to-face."

"Is talking face-to-face a euphemism for kicking ass?" she cracked anxiously.

"No, I mean it. I want to talk to him before we make a final decision on anything."

A flicker of hope ignited in her beautiful azure blue eyes. "Really? You'll talk to him? Joe, you don't have to—"

"I have to think about this," I responded. "And I need answers to questions only he can give."

"Thank you," she whispered against my lips. "That's more than generous—yet one more reason why I made the best decision of my life in marrying you. You're fair."

"I think Manoso would consider me an idiot, but—"

"Never!" she protested vehemently, her eyes shining with love and desire. "I can't imagine a better father for my children."

"Yeah?"

I no longer cared about the conversation, because Stephanie was rubbing her lower half against me. The effect had me groaning softly. Evidently she'd just realized I'd been rock hard underneath her all that time.

"You—you think I'll be good with them?" I managed to get out. I was trying to stay focused, but the way she was moving like that—

Leaning in, she circled my ear with her tongue and used her warm breath to whisper, "I think you're good at _lots _of things, hubby."

_Back to the goofy nickname!_ I couldn't help but smile, grateful she couldn't see me from her angle.

She was doing her best to prime my pump, and—_oh God_—her efforts were working only too well. Sliding my hands beneath her sweatshirt, I found her bare breasts swollen and more than ready to fill my hands. To hell with Manoso and his stupid agenda! Why waste any more energy on him when my wife was inviting me to expend energy on _her_?

"Yeah? What's your favorite thing I'm good at?" I asked, my eyes hooded and lazy. Her sweatshirt landed on the floor behind the couch.

Without an ounce of shyness, she told me, and my smile grew wider. _Yep, the hellcat had definitely come to play._

Laying her down on the couch beside me, I got busy doing her favorite thing. After all, if I did a good job…

Maybe she'd do _my _favorite thing.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"What do you mean you're cancelling on me?" I demanded in a voice that normally let anyone on the receiving end know that 'no' was not an option.

"I can't help it, Mr. Manoso," Louis, the charter pilot spoke nervously in my ear. "The east coast is experiencing an unusual, widely spread, Thanksgiving snowstorm with particularly high winds. It's been gale force all day in several states, including New Jersey, and the snow is already falling according to the radar. My small jet simply can't handle those conditions."

_Fuck._

_Why had I chartered a small jet again? _Weeks ago when I'd made the reservation, it'd seemed like a good idea. I'd wanted peace and quiet and the anonymity a private jet could offer. I hadn't taken into account the weather this time of year was finicky and could change at the drop of a hat.

Somehow I needed to get back to Newark. I'd promised my parents—my mother specifically—that I'd be there for Thanksgiving. Grandma Rosa hadn't been doing well lately and wanted a visit from her favorite grandson.

Tapping my pen against the desk where I was sitting, I asked Louis, "Are commercial flights still running?"

"Oh sure—for now anyway, but good luck finding an open seat. It's Thanksgiving, you know."

"Thanks for the reminder," I ground out in disgust. _Man, I didn't need this hassle!_

"Got any connections there at the airport? Anyone who might be able to do you and me a favor?"

"I can try. Don't hold your breath though."

"Any seat, any airport within four hours of Newark." I'd just get a rental car and drive the rest of the way.

"I'll get on it right away, Mr. Manoso. And I'm sorry about this inconvenience. I hate to let down a good customer."

"Find me a flight tomorrow, and we'll call it good."

"Right. I'll be in touch."

Disconnecting, I stemmed the urge to throw my phone into the wall beside me. I couldn't do that though. I needed it to make the next dreaded phone call. Punching in the speed dial, I waited impatiently, surprised to feel beads of sweat beginning to appear on my forehead. And it wasn't from the balmy weather in Miami either.

"Hola, Mañoso residencia."

"Hola, Mama."

"Carlos!"

My mother began a litany of eager Spanish, and I slouched in my chair in preparation for the onslaught to come.

_You'd better come through for me, Louis, or I'm a dead man—killed by my own mother._

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

"You need to get out more."

"Ha! So says the playboy with a girl in every port."

"Not every_ port_—that's the Navy, Lynnie. Besides, I only go for pretty girls. Navy guys? They'll screw anything with a set of—well—you know."

I let out a bark of laughter, not realizing how badly I'd needed this time alone with Chip. After having endured dinner with him and my mother, during which I'd heard nothing short of forty minutes of instructions on what I was to do and _not _do during the dinner party tomorrow, I'd practically begged Chip to go horseback riding with me in the rapidly accumulating snow.

Two hours later we'd finished grooming the horses and had fallen side-by-side in a bale of hay—delaying our return to the house and Mother's mouth for as long as possible.

"I get out plenty, _Charles_."

"If you value your life, you'll quit calling me that," my six-foot three 'little brother' threatened. He gave a playful tug on the ponytail I'd hastily put together underneath my ski cap. "And don't change the subject. Name the last time you went out on a date."

"Name the last time _you _did," I shot back, eyes narrowed. "Oh wait—I forget. You young people don't date any more. You 'hook up'."

He snorted. "Still trying to change the subject, _old _girl."

"My schedule doesn't allow me to date very often. Between work and research for my novel—"

"You're _still _doing research?" His eyebrows shot up. "My God, Lynnie, you've been working on that thing for two years. Write the damned book already."

"Be quiet!" I harrumphed. "A psychological thriller isn't exactly the easiest genre, you know."

"Excuses! The woman makes nothing but excuses!" He raised his arm and cried out loud enough to disturb the horses. They whinnied their displeasure from their stalls.

"Stop," I elbowed him in the gut and tried not to giggle. Despite the eight-year age difference—his twenty-three to my thirty-one—we were both like a couple of little kids whenever we got together, which wasn't very often unfortunately.

"Seriously, are you making _any _friends in Trenton?"

His honey brown hair was the same as mine, as were his golden brown eyes. With his chiseled features now settling into manhood, my brother was quite simply a heartbreaker.

Brushing over his military-issued buzz cut with affection, I smiled, "Stop worrying. I'm not lonely. I really am very busy, Chip."

"I know, but you need a life outside of work too—and more than just LeMaire for a friend."

"Evan has been very good to me."

"I didn't say he wasn't."

"No, I mean he's gone out of his way to make certain I've adjusted to my new life in Trenton."

Chip snorted. "Because he's in love with you, dummy!"

"No, he's not," I denied perhaps a little too quickly.

Of course it didn't matter it he was or wasn't. Evan LeMaire's shyness would forever prevent him from establishing a relationship with anyone other than his cat, which was fine by me. I had no attraction to him beyond friendship.

"So you haven't met _any _interesting men in the entire year you've been in New Jersey."

"I meet interesting men all the time. Many of my clients are men," I answered cheekily.

Despite my joking, I immediately thought of Joe and Stephanie and said a quick prayer they were navigating the holiday okay after their recent trauma. _If only he'd returned my phone calls!_

He huffed disgustedly. "I'm not talking about clients, Lynnie! I'm talking about real, live, intriguing and eligible men."

Without warning the image of Carlos Manoso came to mind, and I found myself blushing.

"Aha! You _have _met someone!" Chip cried, scrambling onto his haunches in front of me. "Spill the beans, Cherylyn Sullivan."

Before I could give him another smart retort, my cell phone rang from inside my ski parka. _Who in the world? _Fearing it might be Joe, I hastened to yank it out of my pocket and ignored the Caller ID.

"There he is now—your secret lover!" my brother hooted, pretending to grab the phone. "Let me talk to him!"

"Shush!" I scolded, and then spoke breathlessly into the phone, "Hello?"

"Dr. Sullivan?"

My heart immediately began to race. "Javier?"

Javier Sanchez had been one of my first clients upon my arrival in Trenton nearly a year ago. Suffering from manic depression, the thirty-something electronics engineer, who'd originally immigrated to the United States from the Phillipines to go to college, had been in and out of counseling for years. Evan had given him to me, thinking my quirky sense of humor might add a new element to his therapy.

Oh, it'd added something all right. Javier had taken a personal notice of me that stretched _way _beyond the limits of patient/client. While I'd always been able to thwart his advances without incident, I'd been neither surprised nor necessarily disappointed when he'd threatened his landlady with a knife and ended up in jail six months ago.

Evan had warned me a couple of weeks ago about Javier's release, and we'd already agreed to transfer any future treatment from me to him. The fact that his release had coincided with a suspicious note and telephone call I'd received had me slightly concerned. Evidently, Javier hadn't gotten the message regarding the change of counselors—or had chosen to ignore it.

"Dr. Sullivan, I finally reach you," he said in his broken English. "I try seeing you at office several times, but you never there."

No, and that was by design. Evan had insisted I stay away from Javier Sanchez—completely.

"How did you get this number, Javier?" I asked, forcing myself to use my professional voice, although inside I was already shaking. Evan had forced me to get a new cell phone and number as well.

"I have ways," he laughed rather good-naturedly.

My skin crawled at the thought of what he was probably capable of doing as an electronic engineer. Thinking of the computer-generated phone call I'd received a couple of weeks ago, I began to fear perhaps he _was_ responsible.

_Why hadn't I taken the time to fill Evan in on the note and the phone call! _Furious with myself for assuming it'd been a teenaged prank; I knew I'd have to get to the bottom of this upon my return to Trenton.

"Javier, it is not appropriate for you to call me anymore," I said firmly. "I'm no longer your counselor. You need to talk with Dr. LeMaire."

Chip's easygoing manner instantly tensed beside me. "Who is it?" he mouthed, frowning.

I waved him off with my hand.

My former client sounded hurt. "I try understand why we no talk anymore. Do I upset you?"

_Yes, don't you remember? You threatened to kill yourself if I didn't go out with you!_

Listening to the tone of his voice, I realized he was in one of his manic stages. "You sound happy, Javier, and I'm glad for you. But it's Thanksgiving. I need to go now."

"Let me talk with him," Chip demanded, holding out his hand. Again, I shooed him away.

"Coffee. Meet me for coffee, Dr. Cheryl. I—we need speak."

"No thank you. I'm glad you're a free man, but I'm unable to meet with you, Javier. Now goodbye—"

"I no like word 'no'," he said, his voice firming.

"Goodbye, Javier!" I said in a rush and quickly disconnected.

"Who the hell was that?" Chip commanded. Gone was my little brother, and in his place was a US Air Force Cadet ready to kick ass.

"A former client. It was nothing."

"Nothing! You're shaking like a leaf! What's going on?"

While part of me wanted desperately to confide in him, I knew if I did, it would spread throughout the rest of the family faster than wildfire. The last thing I needed were my eight military brothers going on a rampage on my behalf, let alone the wrath of Barbara Sullivan and her 'I told you sos'.

"I've got it under control, Chip," I said with a little more attitude than was probably warranted. "I don't mess with your job—don't mess with mine."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me up. "Come on, Lynnie. Don't be like that. What's going on?"

"Nothing!"

"You sure?" he pressed doubtfully.

"Positive—I'm fine. Now come on. Last one to the kitchen has to make the hot chocolate!" I took off, hooting with laughter and promptly fell into a knee-high snowdrift.

"Holy crap! This is really adding up," Chip exclaimed, helping me up and brushing me off. "Think Dad will make it home tomorrow morning?"

"For his sake, I hope so. Although it might be nice to have Barbara on his case rather than mine!"

I set off again, and the wind chased us both, until we were practically flying across the yard. I felt like a little kid and threw my arms out in joyous abandonment.

Thanksgiving was a time for family and fun. I refused to give Javier Sanchez another thought.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"I've been thinking."

"Huh?" I mumbled incoherently.

It was ten o'clock, our bedroom was dark, and I was sprawled on top of Joe half-asleep. I thought he'd already succumbed to sleep several minutes ago after several repeat performances of showing me just how good he was at my other favorite things.

He _was _good too, thus the reason for my being sprawled on top of him. I was too spent to move.

The wind howled outside, while his fingers played with my hair. "I'm sorry. Were you asleep?"

"No," I lied, "but I thought you were. Aren't you tired? You've been up forever."

"My body's tired, but my mind's still working."

"Well, for God's sake—tell it to stop."

His chest moved beneath my ear in silent laughter. "Have I told you in the past five minutes how much I love you?"

"No. And what's up with that anyway?"

"I should be shot," he deadpanned. "Well, I do, you know. I'm crazy about you."

I managed to lift myself up onto my elbows and leaned down to capture his warm lips with mine. "Good answer. Now, what were you thinking about?"

It was too dark to see his expression, but I felt his body tense slightly.

"Tomorrow."

"As in Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"Much as I don't want to, I think we need to stop by my mother's house. Thanksgiving is usually rough for her."

"Why's that?" I asked softly, already knowing the answer probably had something to do with Rocco.

Joe was silent for so long, I thought maybe _he_ had fallen asleep.

"Every year my mother would make this elaborate Thanksgiving meal," Joe began in his quiet baritone. "She'd invite every relative, living or dead, and host a full-on American/Italian feast."

"Sounds special," I offered cautiously.

"Oh, it was special alright," he agreed resentfully. "Especially horrible. My father made sure of that."

"What'd he do?"

"Ma would make him promise every year to stay sober and be there for the relatives—for his family."

His voice grew choppy with anger. "Instead he'd stay out the night before and all day Thanksgiving with his cronies until about four o'clock in the afternoon. Then he'd come rolling in the door—drunk and ugly—yelling at Ma to get his dinner and picking fights with his brothers, uncles and cousins—anyone who got in his path."

"How embarrassing for Angie."

"For all of us. I can remember being little and running for the closest hiding place when I heard his voice enter the house. The year I was four it happened to be a broom closet. I stayed in there until someone finally found me that night, sound asleep on top of my mother's vacuum cleaner."

My eyes began to well. I couldn't imagine one of my own children hiding in fear of Joe.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He shrugged. _God, I wished I could see his face._

"I was lucky. I was small, and I could usually hide. Tony wasn't so lucky. I can't remember a Thanksgiving before my father—" He paused and swallowed. "Before he died where Tony wasn't taken out to the garage to bear the wrath of Rocco's drunken rage."

"Why do you think was he so angry all the time?"

"He was a monster."

There was such a sense of finality to the words I didn't dare say anything more. _How many additional demons were the Morellis carrying in their hearts because of that evil bastard?_

"After his death, Ma tried to keep up the tradition of the big Thanksgiving meal, but she'd fall apart every year in front of the company. As time went on, the group got smaller and smaller, until in recent years it was just Grandma Bella and the immediate family. Of course, even those small gatherings were usually marred by Tony and Paul."

"Your mother needs a happy memory," I observed, surreptitiously swiping at an errant tear.

"Well, I don't see how she's going to get one tomorrow," Joe quipped sardonically, "but I can't let her down by not at least showing up."

Immediately, I began to pray that somehow Joe and his mother would have a moment the following day to recapture even a hint of their former closeness. They were both hurting without the other—whether he wanted to admit it or not.

My mind turned to our earlier argument about Ranger. _How could I have been so insensitive not to see how Ranger's request was another direct attack on my husband's masculine pride? _On top of everything else he had on his plate, it seemed almost cruel to have added this additional weight. Yet, I also knew Joseph Morelli better than anyone. The debt he owed Ranger was a burden he wasn't willing to hide from or ignore. He _needed _that face-to-face confrontation with his nemesis probably more than I did.

"Joe?"

"Huh?" His voice was drowsy.

"Sorry. I thought you were still awake."

"S'alright. You okay? You need something?"

I wanted to tell him how sorry I was for adding to his stress load. I wanted to assure him again that my love for him was endless and indissoluble. I wanted to soothe his anxiety over facing his family tomorrow en masse for the first time since remembering his father's death and take away his grief over the young murder victim who'd reminded him of me.

I wanted—

I wanted to somehow make him whole again.

"Steph?" His voice grew concerned.

I settled for the one thing I knew would say it all.

"I just wanted to tell you I love you one last time before you go to sleep."

Joe rolled me off his chest, so I slid in beside him. Firmly wrapping me in his strong arms, his right hand slid into its new favorite spot over my abdomen. Our lips found each other in the dark, and he gave me one last gentle kiss filled with gratitude and hope.

"I love you too, Cupcake. Goodnight."

"Goodnight hubby."


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Howdy do, folks. Happy Friday!

Oh man, this is a long one. Sorry. :-(

Thanks to ALL of you for continuing to provide me with such excellent feedback and support. Julie and Kim, hugely indebted for the time and effort you put into this one. I can't imagine doing any of this with the two of you!

* * *

Chapter Four

**Ranger's POV**

"And this is my other great granddaughter, Jolene," the woman next to me gushed, "Isn't she the prettiest little thing? Folks say she looks a lot like I did back in the day. Wouldn't you agree, Vera Sue?"

A photo of a cow-eyed, buck-toothed farm girl was shoved in front of my face, and I about yelped. Of course the yelp might've come from the fact that Vera Sue, the little old lady on the other side of me, had used my momentary distraction to shove her hand in my crotch for the fourth time in fifteen minutes.

My charter pilot Louis had indeed come through for me by securing the last available seat on a Delta flight, scheduled to land in Boston at ten thirty five for a connecting flight to Newark at eleven ten. Unfortunately the seat was smack dab between two old biddy sisters in the second to last row of the plane.

"She's charming," I grunted, picking up Vera Sue's wandering hand and dropping it unceremoniously into her own lap.

Behind me, some elementary-school kid continued to kick the back of my seat, keeping time to the loud beeps and buzzes coming from his Nintendo game. Despite repeated glares tossed over the seatback, neither he nor his mother seemed to care. _Her_ ears were plugged with a set of friggin' headphones.

The woman with the photograph, named Althea, noticed Vera Sue's lecherous grab and frowned. "Sister—leave the poor boy alone! You've been pawin' him ever since we left Miami."

Vera Sue, who didn't look a day younger than ninety, clacked her false teeth together and gave me a moony grin. "Sorry. Turbulence has me jumpin'."

_Turbulence—my ass._

Althea, who appeared to be two days shy of the grave herself, rolled her eyes and shoved all forty-six of the photographs I'd just endured back into her beaded purse. With her matching hat, she gave a damned good impression of Minnie Pearl.

"You'll have to excuse Vera Sue. She hasn't been on an airplane in three years. She's a little overexcited."

_Hunh—I'd never heard what she was busy trying to grope called THAT before._

From the other side of the aisle came a long, loud wail. The infant hadn't stopped crying since take-off, and while I wasn't unsympathetic to the fact that the poor thing was probably having ear pain, I _WAS _unsympathetic to the kid's parents who'd spent the entire flight arguing over what to do for said ear pain. Matters hadn't been helped when their other child, a toddler sitting in front of them with Grandma, had barfed all over some unsuspecting fool wearing shorts and a Bermuda shirt in the third seat.

The closer we got to Boston the more I could see what Louis had been trying to warn me. We were flying into a white curtain, and the jet _was _beginning to experience considerable turbulence. A rather significant drop had Vera Sue practically falling into my lap. Reaching out to steady her, I cringed as her hand once more took the opportunity to disappear between my legs.

My jaw clenched. The woman was worse than Stephanie's Grandma Mazur!

I needed a goddamned drink. No—actually I needed a bottle. To hell with the fact it was ten fifteen in the morning and we were about to land.

"You should come have Thanksgiving with our family, Mr. Ranger," Althea invited, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to invite a complete stranger into your family's home. "You could meet Jolene then."

_I'd rather eat dirt in Cambodia. _"Thank you, but I have plans," I said shortly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your flight crew speaking," came the welcomed voice over the loudspeaker. "We are about to make our final approach into Logan International Airport. In preparation for landing, we'd ask that you—"

_Thank God!_

Automatically tuning out the announcement, I closed my eyes and prayed for strength. Twenty more minutes, and I'd be free of my companions. Maybe I could salvage this Thanksgiving yet.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"No, Grandma, Don't bother dragging Mom away from the kitchen. Just promise me you'll remember to tell her Joe and I will be there no later than six o'clock."

"Will do," Grandma cackled happily. "Now promise _me _you two won't get caught up in whatever knicky-knack it is that always makes you late for these family gatherings. Not on Thanksgiving. Your mother is having enough trouble keeping out of the pantry now that she has a young one living in the house again!"

I had to smile at her irrepressible, risqué personality, and that smile grew wider when Joe came up behind me, stark naked, and began to run his warm hands beneath the oversized t-shirt I'd hastily tossed on that morning.

Pressing his hardened, naked body firmly against my back, he began to nuzzle my ear.

"I promise—no knicky-knack," I panted breathlessly into the phone, while Joe chuckled silently.

"Tell her Joe can't make any promises," he murmured seductively, inching my panties slowly down my legs.

My breath hitched, and Grandma Mazur caught on immediately. "Good Lord, Stephanie, you'll both kill yourselves if you keep at it!" she cried out loud enough for Joe to hear. Her voice was green with envy.

"Yeah—but what a hell of a way to go," he countered. In one smooth motion, he slid into me from behind. "Say good-bye, Steph."

"Bye Steph," I echoed distractedly, barely registering Grandma's hoot of approval before I disconnected.

_Every time. How the hell did he cause my brain to completely blank EVERY single time?_

Setting the phone down, I clutched the edge of the kitchen counter with one hand and reached my other arm up behind me to encircle Joe's neck.

"Mrs. Rupp probably has her binoculars trained on us, you know," I pointed out carelessly.

Joe took a haphazard glance out the kitchen window that was only partially covered by the curtain.

"We'd better make it look good then," he quipped.

"It's always good," I confessed, moaning as he began to slowly ease his way in and out. I was nothing but mush. "Ha—happy Thanksgiving."

His fingers found my center and began a lazy, circular motion.

"It is so far." Sweeping my hair aside, his lips moved across my neck, kissing and licking, followed by warm blows from his heated breath. "I woke up and you were gone. I missed you."

"Uh-huh."

_I could barely formulate a thought let alone a sentence._

"Babies were hungry," I somehow managed to explain.

Joe moved his hand up my torso to cup my breast and said suggestively, "I'm hungry too."

"I can tell."

Adjusting the rhythm, he kissed the top of my spine, "Did you satisfy your appetite?"

"One of them," I gasped, squeezing my thighs together more tightly. _Oh God, I was almost there!_

He shifted his angle, turning my head to kiss me, and that's all it took. Waves of intense pleasure spiraled through my system, leaving me weak-kneed and shivering as Joe succumbed to his own intense conclusion.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Cupcake," he breathed hard, while we both tried to regain our sense of balance. "You know—I used to question God all the time why he ever thought I deserved someone like you."

_Huh?_

Frowning, I nudged his stomach with my elbow. "Somehow that doesn't exactly sound romantic, Morelli."

He merely laughed. "I'm serious."

My curiosity was sufficiently piqued. Turning in his arms, I questioned, "And now?"

He gave me the wolf grin. "Now I just say thanks."

_Hmmm…better. Much better._

Tracing my index finger across his lips, I conceded, "Well, thank _you. _That was amazing."

"I was inspired," he admitted. "I had to prove I haven't lost my touch for knicky knack."

We both sniggered then at how pleased Grandma Mazur would be with our efforts. Joe noticed my shivers though and quickly tugged the t-shirt back over my head. He then pulled on a pair of sweatpants he'd brought downstairs with him and reached for me once more.

"Let's go back to bed."

My body immediately warmed to the idea, but I knew we didn't have time.

"Can't—too much to do," I protested regretfully.

He snorted. "Oh yeah? And what exactly do you have to do on this Thanksgiving morning, Mrs. Morelli?"

"Not me—_you! _There are at least seven inches of snow in the driveway. By the time you finish shoveling it and probably half of the neighbors' driveways, you'll barely have enough energy to shower before we head to your mom's."

"Seven inches? Oh shit—my back," he grimaced.

"That's nothing. I had the TV on a minute ago. You should see it up near Boston. They got dumped on—sixteen freakin' inches and still coming down. One anchorman said they're thinking of closing the airport soon. They can't keep the runways plowed."

"Terrific," he joked sardonically. We both knew it was anything but terrific. Letting out a defeated sigh, he added, "Let me go throw on some different clothes."

Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to me. If the roads were bad, they'd need more off-duty cops to assist with accidents and other holiday mayhem.

_Omigod—I wasn't prepared to do my first Morelli Thanksgiving solo!_

"You won't get called in because of the snow, will you?" I asked worriedly.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

The look of horror that came over Stephanie's face was priceless. Oh, it was tempting to yank her chain a bit, but I didn't have the heart. Hell, _I_ didn't even want to go over to my mother's house today. Sheer loyalty and guilt had me going, but no way would I leave Stephanie alone in the midst of the current Morelli family dynamics.

"I won't be called in," I assured her, and then remembered I'd failed to tell her about my shift Friday night. "But—"

"But what?" she demanded, not knowing whether to look relieved or more worried at my dramatic pause.

I dropped the other shoe.

"I have to work a double on Friday. And no—I haven't forgotten we need to meet with Manoso. I'll just have to work it in on my lunch or dinner hour."

"That's okay. I forgot to tell you I have plans tomorrow night anyway."

_Oh?_

My ears perked up at that surprising news.

"What's up? You and Mary Lou going Black Friday shopping?"

"No. Lula called yesterday. She and Connie want to go grab dinner at The Mexicana Grill."

_Oh._

While the idea of Stephanie getting out and having some fun was a good one, I could only imagine the_ kind_ of fun Lula and Connie liked to have.

"You up for a night out with them so soon?" I asked casually, hoping I didn't come across as being too overly protective. We might've come a long way in our relationship, but she still didn't like being told what to do. "Strength-wise, I mean."

She rolled her eyes. "It's just dinner, Morelli."

_Too late. _Her independent streak was off and running.

"Sounds fun." I shrugged, backpedaling quickly. I really didn't want to fight, especially not before going to my mother's house. "It'll be good for you to be with the girls and do—uh—you know—girl-stuff."

"How wild and crazy can one dinner get?" she continued defensively, ignoring my words of support.

She was definitely on to the fact I'd been trying to shield her. And yet something was off on her end as well—something I couldn't quite put my finger on. _She_ almost seemed worried about going.

My instincts went into cop mode. "Alright—what's up, Steph?"

"Nothing's up," she denied. "I'm fine."

She was lying through her teeth_, _and we both knew it. I opened my mouth to argue when her face crumpled into a ball of anxiety.

"Who am I kidding?" she groaned. "They want me to invite Mary Lou and Grandma Mazur!"

_Oh Jeez._

I knew she wouldn't do anything foolish to risk either her health or that of the babies, but who knew what kind of mess the other four trouble magnets might find _for_ her. Of course if I shared my concern, she'd more than likely start _looking_ for the worst trouble she could find just to prove she could handle herself.

"Maybe they won't go," I offered helpfully.

Her scowl let me know what she thought of my help.

"My grandmother? Of _course _she'll go! And Lula wants to celebrate my recovery and Mary Lou's too, so Mare will surely say yes."

"And you _should_ celebrate," I agreed, trying to remain optimistic for both of us. "Besides, how much trouble can a mob moll, a soccer mom, a senior citizen, a former 'ho, and a pregnant woman get into?"

We looked at each other grimly. It almost sounded like the set-up to a really bad joke, and we were both terrified of the punch line.

I shook my head. "Don't answer that." Reaching into one of the kitchen cabinets, I pulled out a bottle of Maalox.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a head start," I replied shortly and moved toward the stairs, still shaking my head.

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

"Where is he?" Barbara fretted, wringing her hands in front of her in cliché-like fashion. "Where is your father?"

From my position slumped on the couch in the formal living room next to Chip, I watched our mother pace yet again across the thick carpet in a toasted-almond-colored, _St. John_ knit dress. I wasn't about to touch her question with a ten-foot pole. I figured the more her attention was focused on my father, the less it was on me.

"Mother, you need to calm down," Chip chastised gently. "There's a whole two hours yet before everyone else arrives. He'll be here."

She stopped pacing to stare at us, almost as if she were just noticing our presence for the first time.

"Why aren't you both dressed yet?" she demanded crossly.

"_Because_ there's a whole two hours before everyone else arrives!" Chip repeated in the smart mouth way only a youngest child can get away with.

Barbara examined me more closely. "Cherylyn, just remember I expect you to come down those stairs dressed appropriately _and _with your God-given hair—not this stringy mess you seem to think is so fashionable." She shook her head disapprovingly. "And for Heaven's sake—stop slouching."

_Too late—I was back in her sights._

"Mother, I'm thirty-one years old. Please don't tell me what to do!" I ordered calmly, sitting up anyway. My attempt at assertiveness was completely ruined by rolling my eyes like a twelve-year old.

"Have Gertie get out the dress I bought last summer for you in Paris. You'll love it."

"Thank you, but no. I thought about wearing a dress, but I brought a perfectly lovely pantsuit with me from home. I'll be much more comfortable."

"I told you on the phone two weeks ago—absolutely _no _pants at dinner!"

"Can _I_ wear pants?" Chip piped up irreverently.

Barbara's lips twitched from trying to hide a smile at her youngest son. "Charles, your sophomoric sense of humor is _not _appreciated."

"Probably because I'm a senior now," he murmured impertinently out of the corner of his mouth, and I giggled like a naughty schoolgirl.

"Both of you—stop it!"

She was gathering her breath to harangue us some more, when Gertie came to the entrance, phone in hand.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Sullivan, but the General is on the phone for you."

"Thank God!" Mother muttered, reaching for the phone with her perfectly manicured nails. She stepped out into the foyer. As soon as she was gone, Chip pounced.

"So, Lynnie girl—tell me. You ready to face Mac—the Jack of all Assholes?"

Flopping my head against the back of the couch, I groaned. "If there weren't freakin' seventeen inches of snow out there and thirty-five mile per hour winds, I'd just say to hell with this whole mess and head back to Trenton."

"You can run, but you can't hide," Chip practically sang. He'd certainly been finding a lot of humor in my love life—or lack thereof—since my arrival. "One of these days you're going to have to face him. Might as well be today."

I hadn't seen my former fiancé Macon Colburn since I'd found him doing the horizontal hustle with _three _other women the night before our rehearsal dinner eight years ago. Eight years was a _long _time, and yet in many it ways, it truly felt like yesterday. Certainly if I allowed myself to feel it, the pain and embarrassment he'd caused me could be brought to mind in a single heartbeat.

There'd been many times—at least once a month—where Mac tried to make contact with me either through my mother, my brother Stephen, who was Mac's best friend, or simply by leaving me a voice mail on my cell phone. Luckily, through dogged determination, I'd systematically managed to avoid him at all costs.

Looks like my luck had finally run out.

"You know—sometimes I wish I smoked," I noted in a contemplative tone. "I could really go for something to calm my nerves right about now." I started to rise. "Maybe a drink—"

Chip tugged me back down. "Maybe not. How about today you try the one surefire thing that's going to stop him from bugging you."

"What's that?"

"Honesty—both with him and our parents."

_I could NEVER tell my parents the truth of what had really happened. Even Chip didn't know the complete truth of what I'd witnessed that night._

"Hunh! What's behind door number two?"

"I'm serious, Lynnie. You're the goddamned shrink. You know the score. None of this will go away unless you face it head on and tell Mac you think he's a lecherous egomaniac, who can't keep his miniscule and perhaps diseased-ridden pecker zipped up in those big britches he supposedly wears."

I let out a ridiculously loud snort and quickly looked over my shoulder to make certain my mother hadn't heard me in the foyer.

"Charles Sullivan, you are so bad! Just what kind of foul language do they teach you in the academy anyway?"

He rolled his eyes. "_You _were the one who taught me to swear, big sister!"

"Yeah, I did," I sighed; sounding particularly satisfied over that little fact. "Evidently I have quite a colorful vocabulary too."

Chip grew serious. "Tell him to leave you alone, Cheryl."

"Stop worrying—"

"Either you do, or I will. You need to start standing up to the men in your life."

"Including you?"

"No, I'm the exception. You're supposed to spoil me rotten."

Throwing my arm around the back of his shoulder, I gave his neck a hug. "God, I'm glad you're here."

"Well, I can guarantee you Mac wouldn't be here if Dad knew about what really happened to cause you to break off the wedding. He'd be hobbling around with two less balls to worry about."

"I can't tell them. It would crush them to know the son of their best friends was a deviant sicko!"

"That's no excuse, Lynnie. You—"

Mother appeared in the open doorway, looking slightly less terrified than earlier.

"He's on the ground," she exhaled gratefully. "He'll be getting in the car soon and be here by Noon."

"This conversation is _not _finished," Chip hissed in my ear.

"It is now," I retorted. Pumping my fist in the air, I sang, "Hoot—hoot! Way to go, Dad! _Nothing _stops a Sullivan!"

My mother raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Cherylyn, do not 'hoot' in my home. You sound like a barn owl. Now go and have Gertie find that dress for you. And for God's sake, do something with your hair!"

Her high heels made a tight staccato rhythm as she tapped across the marble on her way to inspect the dining room. As soon as she left, I gave Chip's neck another tight squeeze.

"Happy Thanksgiving, baby brother."

"One can only hope!" he shook his head doubtfully.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"What do you mean there isn't another flight into Newark?"

The gal behind the counter couldn't have been more than twenty and looked like she might pass out in fear—no doubt in response to the glower on my face. Her fingers had been flying over the keyboard in front of her for the past five minutes doing God only knows what. The result?

I was stuck in Boston on Thanksgiving Day.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Manoso, but your connecting flight has been delayed indefinitely, and there isn't another one," she explained, clearly intimidated by my physical appearance.

"Then get me a seat on another airline," I snapped, regretting my surly tone.

I was normally a lot smoother—especially with women—but this day had gone from bad to worse. The flight out of Miami had landed twenty minutes behind schedule, and I'd missed my connecting flight to Newark.

She paled even further. Once more her long fingernails clicked over the keys for endless minutes.

_What the fuck could she possibly find to be searching for that long?_

"There are no other seats," she explained nervously. "The airport has suspended _all _flights on account of the weather."

_No._

"You're joking—why?"

"The snowplow trucks aren't able to keep up with the accumulation on the runways. Your flight and one other out of Dulles were the last two that needed to land. We're shutting down now and won't reopen until at least six o'clock tonight."

_Un—frickin'—believable._

"Rental car," I managed to grind out, grabbing my cell phone to start making calls. I'd simply have to drive the four hours over to Newark. "Preferably an SUV."

Her hands gripped the side of the counter. Evidently she'd given up on her trusty keyboard. "I'm sorry—"

"Livvy," I interrupted, quickly scanning the name on her badge. "Do _not _tell me there are no rental cars. Every terminal at Logan has counters. Can you help me out here by making a few phone calls and securing one for me before they're all gone?"

"Wo—word just came over the loud speaker fifteen minutes ago. All the planes that landed ahead of you—"

"No. No way in hell has every agency gotten rid of _all_ their cars already. On-site—off-site—there has to be _something_," I said dismissively.

"Mr. Manoso, approximately forty planes land at Logan every hour, and we've been delaying flights since six o'clock this morning. Like I said, your flight was one of the last to land."

_Two hundred flights were ahead of me?_

I refused to give up, not wanting to let my mother and Grandma Rosa down.

"_Just_ make the calls—please."

"Hey, buddy—give the girl a break," some guy in line behind me yelled out. "It ain't her fault!"

"Yeah! Others are stranded here too, Mister. Let us have our chance at the counter," another traveler demanded.

"Can I at least get my luggage?" I questioned Livvy, ignoring the others.

She shook her head. "I have no way of retrieving it, sir. It'll eventually make its way to Newark. You're welcome to stay here in the airport and wait for your flight—"

"I can't wait."

"Oh. I'm sorry." She looked up at me helplessly from beneath her long brown eyelashes. "I'm _really_ sorry, Mr. Manoso."

I let out a disgusted huff before thumping my fist lightly on the counter. "Yeah. Me too."

I'd have to use my phone to see what kind of transportation I could scrounge up. Someone somewhere had to have a car to rent. If not, I'd take a cab to the place I kept in the city—that is unless mass transportation had stopped running too.

_Shit._

I turned to go, and Livvy risked my further wrath by leaning over the counter and saying, "Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Manoso."

I barely resisted snarling at her. Stepping out of line, I pushed a button and had my phone to my ear before I'd made it five feet.

"'Yo—where are you, man?" came the laid back voice of my cousin Lester. In the background, I could hear the pandemonium of our extended family in the background. "Everyone's getting antsy."

"'Stuck at Logan."

"Damn, I was afraid that'd happen. Storm's been all over the TV."

"No rental car to be had. I need a ride to Newark."

He snorted. "Well, good luck with that. They've got I-95 shut down up there. Even if you _got_ a rental, you'd be stuck."

I was surprised at the level of disappointment I felt. Used to fending for myself and spending inordinate amounts of time alone, I'd had nothing _but _people crammed into my solitary routine for the past few weeks. You'd think I'd relish the idea of privacy, but, in truth, being by myself on a major holiday held no appeal at all.

Unfortunately, it was what it was.

"Tell everyone, especially my mother, I'm sorry. I'll stop in to see them as soon as I can get out of here."

"Will do. Sorry, man. That bites. Happy Thanksgiving anyway."

I couldn't even bring myself to return the salutation.

"Later."

Disconnecting, I set off to hail a cab when I heard my name being hailed.

"Manoso? Sergeant Carlos Manoso!"

My heart jumped hard against my chest, as I recognized the voice. _It couldn't be…_

Turning, I watched a large, imposing man in uniform approach me. In his early sixties, he bore the carriage of both power and breeding.

He was but one of the many ghosts from my past.

"Manoso, it _is _you."

"General Sullivan," I gave a brief and uncomfortable salute before extending my hand. "It's been a long time, sir."

_Not long enough._

General Clifford "Hawk" Sullivan wasn't an enemy by any means. Our paths had crossed frequently over the years, both when I was enlisted and when the government in more recent years had contracted me to do their dirty work. I actually had a lot of respect for him. But he served as a reminder of the worst time in my life—one I _still_wasn't prepared to face.

"Hawk—please—and it's been at least five years," he noted. "Not since that operation in Uzbekistan." His eyes gleamed knowingly. "As I recall, you were contracted to work in conjunction with the Navy that time."

My nose automatically turned up at any mention of the Navy. "Damned Squids."

He tossed back his full head of silver hair and laughed. "Ah yes—the unending rivalry between armed forces. One of many things I'll miss upon my retirement next month."

That caught me by surprise. "You're retiring? I wasn't aware, sir. Congratulations."

"Just returned from finalizing the details in Washington. Forty-five years, Manoso. It's time."

"It's been more than a career, sir. It's been your life."

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. "To a degree. Unfortunately, my wife has shared me for our entire marriage—practically raised our children on her own. I think she's ready to have me to herself for awhile."

"Understandable."

"And you? Your name isn't bandied about DC as much these days. Heard you've slipped out of doing contract jobs."

"My own business is doing well. I'm trying to build that right now."

"The government could still use you, Manoso," Hawk offered seriously. "It's an ugly world out there."

_Who was he kidding? _No one knew that better than me.

"Yes, sir. And I've seen more than my fair share of it."

His brown eyes darkened. "That you have, Carlos."

_Don't go there. Don't go there._

He looked me over and noticed I was without luggage. "Are you coming or going?" he asked and then laughed as if he'd told a joke. "Neither, right? From what I've hard, the whole city is gridlocked. No flights, no public transportation, many major roads closed. It's a goddamned mess."

"I just returned from Miami. I'm supposed to be with my family in Newark today, but plans have obviously changed."

General Sullivan snorted. "I'll say they have. So now what? You going to wait it out here?"

"I have no choice—not with public transportation down too."

"Then I insist you join me and my family for Thanksgiving dinner."

_I couldn't think of anything more horrible._

"That's very generous of you, sir, but I couldn't impose."

"No imposition at all. We're having some friends over as well. It'll be a real party. Besides, I have nine children, Manoso—all but two of them married and with children. Believe me, one more body won't make the slightest different."

I had no desire to go and make nice with people I barely knew. Plus, the general's son Stephen would be there. He was another ghost I'd just as soon avoid.

"How do you plan on getting home? You have 4-wheel drive?"

"My driver should be out front right now," he agreed. "I have a Hummer for this exact purpose."

"Think your driver could just give me a lift to Newark?" I asked only half-jokingly.

Hawk slapped me on the back. "You'll like my family, Manoso. All eight of my boys are in the service. And you already know Stephen, so you'll have plenty to talk about."

There wasn't a damned thing I wanted to say to Stephen Sullivan except 'go to hell'.

"You have eight sons?" I marveled by way of conversation. In my mind, I was still trying to come up with a plausible excuse not to go.

"And one daughter—smack dab in the middle of them. She's a feisty thing like her brothers. You'll like her."

No thanks. I already knew one feisty Sullivan woman in Trenton. I didn't need another one clogging up my brain.

I'd been surprised and rather angry by just how much room Cheryl Sullivan had consumed my thoughts during my trip to Miami. Part of my objective in going down there in the first place had been to purge any romantic feelings for Stephanie once and for all. And while I wasn't certain whether I'd been completely successful with that mission or not, I'd spent many days really thinking about what had happened between us—acknowledging where I'd gone wrong and coming to grips with her love for Morelli.

The days weren't the problem. It was the nights, and that's where the good Dr. Sullivan had become a thorn in my side. The sexy shrink was nothing but trouble. My head knew that. Unfortunately my dick had another opinion. Too many nights I'd awakened from dreams featuring her golden eyes and long, curly hair—dreams where I was left aching with need.

The solution was to keep my mind active, and the best thing for that would be work. Hopefully Morelli hadn't already put the kibosh on my plan to buy out Vinnie. If I could get him to make good on the debt he owed me, I'd have more than enough to keep my brain busy.

General Sullivan mistook my quiet as a cue that I'd acquiesced to his invitation. "Come on, Manoso—let's go find my driver."

"I have no clothes other than these."

He took in my black silk pants and eggplant cashmere sweater.

"You look fine. Barbara will understand."

"But—"

"No buts. You're coming home with me. I won't accept any other answer. It's the least I can do for a fellow vet. When the airport reopens tonight, we'll bring you back and see about getting you a flight to Newark."

_There was no way I could refuse._

Letting out a discreet sigh, I said, "I appreciate your hospitality. Do you need to call Mrs. Sullivan to let her know I'm coming?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "You're my secret weapon. If I come home with you, she can't get upset with me for being so late."

He laughed at his own joke, and I smiled awkwardly. Althea's earlier invitation to dinner suddenly didn't sound nearly as horrible. At least her granddaughter Jolene hadn't tried to kill me once.

Unlike the general's son Stephen.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

Joe and I had been sitting out front of his mother's house for the past five minutes, already a half hour late thanks to the horrible road conditions.

"Are we going to sit here all day, or are we going to go in?" I groused. I'd tried being patient, but my stomach was beginning to growl. Our babies were hungry.

"How about we go home?"

"Funny. This was your idea, remember?"

"No one ever said I was smart."

"Smart enough to marry me," I retorted.

He snorted. "That wasn't smart. That was goddamned brilliant."

"And so was your idea of coming here. It's a step, Morelli. Baby steps."

He picked up my hand and kissed my knuckles. "Think you can keep me from killing Paul today?"

"I'll do my best." Lifting my other hand, I cupped his cheek. "Think you can keep me from eating everything in sight?"

"I'm brilliant—not a miracle worker."

"What you are is _scum_."

He laughed, as I knew he would. "Thanksgiving only comes once a year, Steph. Eat to your heart's content. It's just good to see you having an appetite again."

My voice took on a hint of whine. "I know, but Dr. Hamilton—"

"Would say the same thing as I just did. It's one day, and you'll have plenty of healthy stuff along with the junk." He let out a resigned breath. "Alright, Cupcake—let's do this. But I make no promises."

Climbing out of the SUV, we headed up the shoveled walkway. Joe took my hand to make sure I didn't slip on the icy pavement, and I felt the sweat on his palms. Despite his cavalier attitude, my husband was a freakin' nervous wreck to be with his own family. The realization had me all the more determined to help however I could to heal the rift separating them all.

"You did call to tell them we were coming, right?" I whispered.

"Nope."

"Joe!"

Putting his hand on the door handle, he repeated my earlier statement, "Baby steps, Steph. At least I'm here."

We stepped into complete chaos.

Children of all ages—not a single one I could identify—were running about the place, yelling and giggling madly. The smells of lasagna and garlic bread merged beautifully with turkey and stuffing, and my stomach responded appreciatively. From the family room, the television blared the Lions/Texans football game; while from the dining room, Paul's loud voice could be heard obnoxiously barking out orders to anyone who would listen.

No one could possibly have heard our entrance above the din.

"Guess I should've studied that family photo album more closely," I joked nervously, as another child went whizzing by us.

Actually, I was beginning to feel a bit panicked. _I'd never be able to remember all their names!_

Joe read my mind. "Around here 'hey kid' works just fine," he assured me dryly. Removing my coat, he tossed it, along with his, onto a large pile already lying on the floor.

The bedlam continued around us. All the kids running past carried the dark, good-looking Morelli genes. One of them, a younger boy of about five, wasn't watching where he was going and came barreling toward me with a somewhat older girl right on his heels.

Joe caught him easily around the waist, avoiding the imminent collision, and gave him a brief hug before setting him back down.

"Easy, Leo," he warned with a grin. "You don't want to break anything at Nonna's house. She might not save any dessert for you."

"Sorry, Unca Joe," Leo's smile showed the same dimples as Joe's, along with two missing front teeth.

"Uncle Joe!" the girl beside him cried out in unabashed adoration. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she squeezed. "You came! I heard Nonna tell Mommy if you weren't here by now, you weren't coming. But you did!"

Joe knelt down to eye-level with the girl. Making a funny face, he teased, "Now would I miss the chance to make one of my two best girls laugh?"

My heart broke a little watching him, reminded once again of how wonderful a father he was going to make _and_ of how little I really did know about dealing with kids. Awareness that in a few short months I was going to be _expected_ to know how to deal with kids sent a bolt of sheer terror down my spine.

Her lower lip popped out. "Wait—who's your _other _best girl?" Clearly, she was used to holding the title herself.

Joe pointed at me and smiled. "Maggie this is Stephanie. I think you've seen her around before once or twice. She's my other best girl." Then looking up at me, he added, "And Steph, this is Margaret Mary, one of Cathy's girls, and this—" he tickled the boy again, "is Leonardo, Mary's youngest."

"Leo!" the kid growled, automatically closing his fingers into fists, which had Joe laughing again. Sensitivity over names was evidently commonplace in the Morelli clan.

I found myself smiling too. The boy reminded me of Joe as a child. _If we had a son, would he look like this little heartbreaker? _Surprisingly, I found myself excited at the possibility. Surreptitiously, my hand slipped over my stomach. Joe noticed, and his dark eyes met mine with a clear sense of possessiveness, causing me to blush.

Oblivious to the moment, Maggie put her hands on her hips and inspected me from head to toe. "You're Uncle Joe's wife now," she informed me smartly, evidently miffed I'd now assumed the honor of "best girl" with her.

Leo nodded his head seriously. "Yep—that's what my mommy told me too. She say you got married on an Islan', Unca Joe—"

The boy paused, as if coming to a stunning realization for the first time. "Hey! I wasn't there! How come I wasn't there? I like Islan's? I like Pirates and buried treasure. When I grow up, I'm gonna be Cap'n Jack Sparrow!"

He grabbed my hand, sticky with God only knew what, and looked up at me with Morelli eyes.

"Hey! Wanna go see my saword?"

"It's a _sword_, Leo," Maggie corrected, emphasizing their age difference. She embodied her mother's attitude perfectly—beautiful _and_ bossy. "And she doesn't want to see your dumb old sword. Girls don't like stuff like that."

"Oh, I don't know—I'm pretty interested in a lot of things," I corrected gently, smiling down at Leo. For some reason, I was finding this gap-toothed wonder boy beside me to be rather endearing.

Leo beamed. "I'll go get it, Aunt Step-a-knee!" he offered eagerly.

Joe sniggered at the massacred attempt of my name.

"Hold up, Leo," he commanded. "We're pretty hungry, and it sounds like everybody else is already at the table ready to eat. How come you kids are running around? Didn't Nonna make enough food?" he joked.

Leo rubbed his tummy. "We kids ate first. Gamma Bella said she not eat with a bunch of hula girls."

This time it was Maggie who nodded her head seriously. "But we can't figure out where the hula girls are, Uncle Joe," she explained. "Did you bring them with you from the Island?"

"I think Grandma Bella means _hooligans_," Joe snickered. He rolled his eyes at me before answering, "which is just her special way of saying 'super fun kids'."

Leo scratched his head. "Why she not just say that?"

"I don't know," Joe responded earnestly. "But it's her loss."

Maggie leveled a worrisome gaze at Joe. "Be careful in there. Mommy says Uncle Paulie is havin' a bad day."

"Yeah," Leo agreed, his eyes getting larger. "He's sayin' all kinds of naughty words, and he smells funny too. I guess he's not being a very good hula girl, huh?" He shrugged and grabbed his cousin's hand. "Come on, Maggie!"

They took off running in the other direction.

"No, it sounds like classic Paul to me," Joe muttered derisively. He stood back up and brushed off his pants. "Maybe we should just go home."

_Amen! _Cluck in the Bucket take-out was beginning to sound awfully appealing.

Instead, I stood on tiptoes to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. "Baby steps."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

We stepped into the dining room, and all conversation ceased.

Ma stood with her back to us at the buffet, passing dishes back and forth to the main table. Hearing the sudden silence, she turned, caught sight of us and literally staggered, nearly dropping the tray in her hands.

"Joseph," she breathed in awe. "You came."

I hadn't seen my mother since Tony awakened at the hospital nearly two weeks ago. And as impossible as it seemed, she'd aged even more in that short timeframe. Her face was drawn and pale, highlighting a number of new wrinkles. Hostility warred with love and loyalty inside my heart. Part of me wanted to envelop her in a hug, while the other half very much wanted to walk out of her house and never come back.

"Happy Thanksgiving Ma," I responded neutrally, well aware the rest of my family was staring. "Sorry we're late."

Grandma Bella's coal black eyes gleamed with satisfaction, assuming my presence was the result of her phone call the day before.

You're late," she harrumphed with her usual gruffness. "Always late. Sit down before the food gets cold."

Stephanie promptly sat down hard in the empty chair next to Bella. I wasn't sure if it was out of intimidation of my grandmother or the fact she was famished. It didn't matter. No one even seemed to notice her presence anyway. All eyes were on me—Cathy and Ron's, Mary and Marcus', Adrienne's. Surprisingly, even Angelina sat stoically at the end of the table observing me curiously. But the eyes that concerned me most were Paul's. They were already sullen and inebriated, a fact that didn't bode well for this little soiree.

Cathy finally found her voice and spoke what no doubt they were all thinking. "Glad you finally got your head on straight and stopped sulking long enough to join your family."

I let out a slow, uneven breath.

_Some family._

Her sour comment didn't surprise me. She'd always considered herself my second mother. And in all honesty, she was probably right. I _had_ been sulking lately—but with damned good reason as far as I was concerned.

"Catherine!" Ma shushed, while Ron, her husband, gave her a not-so-subtle nudge with his elbow.

Ma set the tray down hard onto a buffet table and ran her hands nervously up and down the sides of her skirt. I knew she wanted to hug me. Her eyes fairly shone with undisguised hope and excitement.

She settled for briefly cupping her hand against my cheek, murmuring, "I can't believe you're here. I'd about given up—"

"Ah, Ma—never discount good old Joey," Paul spoke for the first time, mockingly saluting me with his wine glass. "He's a regular saint—a miracle worker even. He'd never let you down—especially on a holiday."

Sitting in Tony's spot at the head of the table like some sort of friggin' king, he took a healthy gulp of his drink. My stomach immediately tightened. _How could Ma allow him to sit there after what his actions had nearly cost Tony and me?_

"Paulie," Mary hissed the warning beneath her breath. Aloud, she said warmly, "It's good to have you here, Joey—you too, Steph."

"Did I say it wasn't good to have them here?" Paul sneered. "Of _course_ it's good to have them here! It's my own baby brother and his brand new wife, isn't it? We need to celebrate. Bring out the best wine! Kill the fatted calf! Or at least someone get him a goddamned beer."

He gestured dismissively toward Adrienne seated beside him, "Get him a beer."

She immediately moved to do her husband's bidding like the frightened mouse she was.

_Asshole!_

My hands clenched at my sides. Not five minutes in the door, and already I wanted to go home in the worst way_. _This was _not _how I'd envisioned spending my first Thanksgiving with Stephanie. Only out of deference to my mother was I willing to try, but if Paul kept up that kind of shit, I was gone.

Barely masking my disgust, I took the seat between Stephanie and Marcus and said snidely, "I'll pass—thanks."

"Wine then?" he pressed, picking up the bottle in front of him and waving it tauntingly. His voice was slightly slurred. "Like I said—we have so much to celebrate now that_you're_ here!"

Ever the peacemaker, Mary piped up again. "We do have much to celebrate: Joe and Stephanie's first Thanksgiving together; the good health of the babies and her; your freedom; Tony's road to recovery—"

Paul took another healthy swig of wine. "It's been a hell of a year alright," he snorted sarcastically. "I'm sure Tony would agree."

"Stick a sock in it, Paul," Cathy ordered angrily, gripping her wine glass with white knuckles. "Tony would _be_ here right now if you hadn't been so stupid! When are you two going to learn how to keep your peckers in your pants?"

Paul's whiskey brown eyes flashed. "You know _nothing_ of what I've been through, Catherine Margaret. So why don't you just shut your mouth?"

"Watch it," Ron warned quietly.

The guy was in construction—big and full of muscle. Not someone you wanted to necessarily mess around with, and yet Paul was drunk and belligerent, an equally dangerous combination.

Paul put his palms up defensively. "Easy big fellow. Just a friendly spat among siblings."

"There ain't nothin' friendly about you these days, Paulie," Ron countered coolly, folding his arms across his massive chest.

_No shit. _I couldn't even recognize Paul. Gone was the slow, quiet and methodical man who'd always been the perfect counterpart to Tony's brash obnoxiousness. It was as if by sitting in Tony's chair, he'd somehow morphed into a poor imitation of my oldest brother.

Ma plunked two heaping plates down hard in front of Stephanie and me.

"Can we please just try to have a peaceful meal," she pleaded, sounding rather harried as she took her seat across from us.

My hungry wife wasted no time in digging in. Now that she'd finally adjusted to the Zofran, her already healthy appetite had increased ten-fold—a fact that thrilled me. She looked around the table long enough to notice no one else had picked up a fork. Making a face, she motioned for everyone to eat. Perhaps she was hoping it would shut them up. God knows it did at the Plum household.

Ever the Burg hostess, Ma tried to steer the conversation into safer waters. "You look good, Stephanie—even better than yesterday. Are you feeling well?"

Steph took a sip of water and nodded. "Much better—thanks. The nausea is almost gone."

"Oh, morning sickness is the worst," Mary empathized. "With Leo, I thought I'd never want to look at food again."

Angelina had yet to say a word. Frankly, I was shocked she was even present, given the bad blood between her and Ma of late. She was definitely showing herself to be a true Morelli though. Our lives may be falling apart on the inside, but we all knew the loyalty expected of us to show to the rest of the world.

She looked warily down the table at Stephanie, and I remembered the two of them had some bad blood going as well, seeing as how Angelina had outright lied to Stephanie about Tony and the suitcase of evidence.

"Gio was my worst," she agreed, offering Steph a slight smile—almost as a peace offering. "Maybe it's boys in general. Is it possible your twins are both boys."

"Dear God," Stephanie barely breathed, sounding terrified. I couldn't blame her. Two Morelli boys at once scared the crap out of me too.

"Grandma, you always used to predict Joey would have _three_ boys," Cathy chimed in. She raised her eyebrow and teased, "What do you think? Could the doctor be wrong? Might there be three boys in there?"

I scowled at Cathy. _What the hell was she doing? _Stephanie looked ready to pass out from horror.

Bella swallowed some wine. She was scowling too, but for a different reason. "I only see one baby. I still no understand why I only saw one baby." Nudging Stephanie's arm, she said, "You sure the doctor say two?"

"Yes, there's two," I cut in firmly, glaring at both her _and _Cathy. I gave Steph a reassuring squeeze. "Let's talk about something else. How's Tony, Angelina?"

My sister-in-law didn't appear too happy to have the spotlight shifted to her, and let me know her displeasure with a death glare of her own.

"Stronger," she muttered. "Every day a little stronger."

"Hunh," Ma grunted, slicing her meat rather aggressively. "I still don't understand why you chose to come here instead of remain at the hospital with him."

"I told you," Angelina replied through gritted teeth. "Tony asked me to represent our family out of respect to you. He knows this is a difficult day for you."

Ma looked stunned at her forthrightness.

Angelina's face flushed with bitterness. "Would you rather I take the kids and go? _My_ parents would certainly welcome us."

"No, I think you've done enough 'going' as it is, don't you?" Ma recovered quickly, referring to the fact that Angelina and Adrienne had left town with her grandchildren without a word.

"Oh my God—are you back to playing that broken record again?" her daughter in-law rolled her eyes. "Adrienne and I feared for our families' _lives_ after she was nearly assaulted by Meachum. With Tony and Paulie on the run, there was no one to take care of us but ourselves."

"No, it certainly wouldn't have made sense to go to your brother-in-law—the friggin' cop!" I jumped in resentfully.

_Woah—where had that come from?_

My self-control had already flown out the window. Mostly, because Paul was still sitting at the end of the table drinking like a fish, and it pissed me off after what he'd nearly cost me.

Angelina's mouth pinched together, while Paul's opened wide to blast me. "Leave Angie alone, Joey. I told you we didn't come to you, because Tony and I wanted to protect you—like we have your whole entire life."

"Well, you ended up getting me pretty fucking involved anyhow, didn't you—my wife too!"

"Joseph, don't swear!" Ma shushed him. "And _please_ don't start in on this."

"Joe's right," Stephanie spoke up for the first time, now ignoring her food. "If Angelina hadn't lied to me in the first place about the suitcase—"

"I'm _sorry!" _Angelina's eyes flashed in annoyance. "I was a little more concerned about saving the lives of me and my children than to worry about whether or not I was hurting your feelings."

"You did good, Angie," Paul noted grimly, raking his eyes across Steph and me. "Tony should be proud of how you handled things for our families."

"Is this before or after he assaulted my wife in our own goddamned kitchen?" I snapped.

Old Ron might've had brawn—and Paul had his booze, but bitterness flat out fueled my rage. And the longer we sat there, the more potent it became.

Angelina was beat red from her own anger. Turning, she nailed Paul with a fierce look. "Are you kidding me? Do you honestly believe what you or Tony think matters to me? It was infidelity—yours _and _Tony's that caused this mess in the first place. What were you thinking getting involved with a child like that, Paulie?"

_Finally, someone who made sense!_

Adrienne ducked her head in embarrassment, while Paul glowered at Angelina.

Ma was still taking her anxiety out on that poor piece of turkey. Her head flew up. "I will _not _talk about that at my dinner table—"

"No, God forbid anyone dare tell the truth in this family," Angelina threw back recklessly, throwing up her hands in disgust.

Cathy and Mary both gasped. No one challenged Angie Morelli.

"She's right," I cut in quickly, grateful for Angelina's boldness.

The continual lies of this family were at the root of all our problems.

"Could we all _please_ stop bickering and enjoy the meal Ma prepared?" Mary begged. Her face was ghost white. No doubt all this talk was taking her back to the abuse she'd received from my father.

"Yeah—I wouldn't mind eating my meal in some bloody peace and quiet," Marcus added dryly in his British accent. Quiet by nature, he'd spoken out of support for his wife.

Bella, who had no trouble being loud, banged the edge of her knife on the tabletop.

"Mary's right. Stop this nonsense! You should be ashamed acting like this on Thanksgiving. Where's respect for your mother?"

"Speaking of mothers, I saw yours at Giovanni's earlier in the week, Stephanie. Did she tell you?" Ma's voice quavered. Unused to having things so far out of her control, she was desperate to get the conversation away from the minefields of our personal lives.

Steph's face paled in anticipation of trouble.

"No. Why?"

Ma took a bite of the turkey she'd practically sliced to bits. "I just thought perhaps she might've told you our plan."

"Plan?" Steph echoed, tossing me an anxious glance. "What plan?"

"You and Joseph promised us the chance to have a real reception for the two of you after your whirlwind wedding last month. Now that things have settled down, we've decided to set a date." She smiled. "Actually we _have _set a date—Saturday, December twenty-second."

_Oh Jesus. This wasn't a minefield; it was a goddamned missile attack!_

Stephanie's fork clattered to her plate, and I groaned out loud.

"Ma—no," I protested. "No reception."

"Oh how fun!" Mary immediately enthused, looking around the table. Whether or not she truly thought so was beside the point. She simply couldn't stand controversy. It was a leftover coping mechanism from our ugly childhood.

Cathy frowned. "Why you want to go to all that trouble, Ma? They're already married with two kids on the way. That's a lot of time and expense on your part—"

Paul took another drink of wine. "For once I agree with my sister. Wasn't that spectacle Joe put on in Barbados enough?"

Son of a bitch! His comment hurt after the joy I'd attempted to share with everyone.

"Paulie, it was a beautiful wedding," Adrienne spoke up timidly. "Joe was so kind to have included us—"

"Did I say he wasn't?" Paul scorned his wife. "Joey was a fucking _genie_ to have arranged all that on such short notice. We should _all _be so lucky to have that kind of money to throw around. Of course when you have no mortgage and copious amounts of reward money to play with—"

"Which he _more_ than earned from helping to save our city from crooked cops and dirty politicians, while his own life was being threatened," Stephanie blasted right back at him. "You should be ashamed—and grateful! What happened to the man who came to our house in the cover of darkness, begging my husband for help?"

He waved his arms. "I'm grateful—I'm grateful already, okay?" his Jersey accent thickened. "What do you want me to do, Steph—bow down and worship your perfect husband? _Jee-zus!"_

"You don't sound very grateful," Cathy goaded in a smug tone.

"And _you_ never did wear jealousy well," he retorted, shooting her his middle finger.

Ron wasn't about to take much more of Paul treating his wife poorly. He shifted forward menacingly in his seat. "This is your last warning, Paul."

God, maybe I should've pushed harder to have Paul sent to rehab or trumped up some other charge to have him spend a longer time in jail. My hope had been for him to reunite with his own wife and kids and start over, but from what I was witnessing, he was out of control and in serious need of some kind of help.

"I'm _not _jealous!" Cathy protested too quickly. "I'm simply pointing out the fact it seems senseless and a tad ridiculous to go to all this trouble when clearly Joe doesn't want—"

"You mean what _you _don't want," Paul persisted. "You can't stand the thought of Ma giving Joe even more attention than she already does."

"Speak for yourself!" she retorted. "So many of Tony's and your foolish choices are a result of your own jealousy over Joe."

Paul fumed. "No—any foolish choices we've made are a result of the hell we endured in order to _save_ his privileged ass."

For once the guilt card held _nothing _over me.

"That may have been true as kids, but I've more than paid my dues. I've been saving your ass _and _Tony's for years!"

Not even the sight of Ma across the table wringing her hands, tears in her eyes could stop me now. I'd reached my limit.

Infuriated, Paul's eyes were bloodshot and assessing as they met and held mine down the length of the table. After a few heated moments, his gaze deliberately strayed over to Stephanie.

He drained his glass in one purposeful motion and reached for the bottle in front of him. Finding it empty, his stare never left Stephanie's while he nudged Adrienne.

"Go get me a beer, _Babe_."

My skin automatically crawled, and I felt more than saw Stephanie cringe in her seat. Paul's eyes gleamed with satisfaction knowing his barb had hit a sensitive target.

_The goddamned prick! _Obviously, Tony had shared with Paul about Ranger's pet name for my wife. For him to provoke us both with it now was fucking inexcusable.

"Don't call her that," I warned menacingly, pointing my knife at my brother. Stephanie had her hand on my arm in an attempt to restrain me, and I shrugged it off. "No. Do_not _call her that."

"That's right. She has a name, Paulie," Cathy admonished, thinking I was merely annoyed with how he was treating Adrienne. "Your _wife _has a name, and she's not your slave."

Paul's eyes never left Stephanie's. "Mind your own business, Cathy." His voice was slurred. "Joey, Joey, Joey—whass the matter? You gotta problem with the word 'Babe'? Why's that? Steph doesn't mind."

Stephanie's fingers gripped her utensil. "No, Steph _does _mind. She also wouldn't mind shoving this fork up your ass, so I suggest you shut up!"

"Stephanie!" Ma exclaimed, hastily making the sign of the cross. On the other hand, I noticed Grandma Bella wasn't blasting _her_ for saying the word 'ass'.

"I don't care!" Steph shot back in a hardened voice. "This is ridiculous. Paul is a grown man—Tony too. What they've done to embarrass your family is reprehensible!" Her hand shook as she swiped the curls off her forehead. "And these secrets—they're friggin' choking this family. Why can't anyone see you're all carrying around scars that threaten to divide you forever?"

"Amen!" Angelina called out.

Paul was halfway out of his chair. "You can just shut _your_ lying little mouth right now, Stephanie. Just because you've wrapped Joey around your finger doesn't give you any rights here. Don't you dare lecture me!"

"We're leaving," I announced abruptly. Standing, I tossed down my napkin and grabbed Stephanie's hand.

"Joseph—no!" Ma protested, swiping at her eyes. "Please don't go! Why are you being so sensitive? It was only a word, and Paul wasn't even addressing Stephanie—"

"Joe—wait," Stephanie urged in agreement, trying to pull me back down into my seat.

"No, goddamn it!" My eyes found Grandma Bella's. "I tried, but I'm done!"

She nodded imperceptibly, disappointment marring her face.

I couldn't wait a minute longer. Releasing Stephanie's hand, I stalked out of the dining room with my chest practically heaving from suppressed emotion.

Behind me, I heard Mary say tearfully, "Why can't we enjoy _one_ simple meal together without hurting one another?"

"Because we're Morellis!" Paul rejoined sarcastically. "The most dysfunctional cast of misfits ever bred!"

_Finally something Paul and I could agree on!_

No sooner had I stepped out of the room than I found more than a dozen pairs of eyes standing there staring at me.

The kids.

"Unca Joe, why you leavin'?" Leo was the first to ask timidly. "Why's everybody yellin' like that?"

Maggie broke away and came over to hug my leg again. "Yeah, don't go."

My throat threatened to close. What a hell of an example we adults had just set for these kids. _Was this what my own children were destined to endure? _The ugly possibility nearly paralyzed me.

"It's okay, guys," I said, swallowing hard and trying to infuse some false cheer into my voice. "Don't worry. Stephanie and I are just tired."

Brushing past them, I had my coat on and was almost out the front door when Stephanie and Ma came running into the entryway.

"Joseph—please—don't leave," Ma begged, tugging on the sleeve of my jacket. "Why can't you forget—?"

"Are you kidding me?" I blazed, jerking my arm away. "After the hell I just went through—after almost losing my _wife and children_, you want me to _forget _everything?"

She shrank from my rebuke, and I immediately felt like shit. The last thing I wanted to do was treat her like Rocco.

"Don't do this," Stephanie frowned. "Don't let bitterness ruin the holiday for you. Forget Paul—"

"I'm _not_ going back in there," I responded coldly. "And I can't believe you're asking me to. I'm human, Steph. I can't handle any more of this bullshit."

She studied my face for several long moments. Shrugging into her own coat, she nodded and said in a subdued voice, "You're right. This whole thing was a mistake. I shouldn't have encouraged you to come—"

"It was my choice," I responded impatiently, by no means mad at her. I just couldn't seem to squelch my frustration. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of that house.

But then I took another look at Ma, and my heart skipped a beat. She looked completely broken standing there. Silently weeping, her hands were folded as if in prayer. My reason for having agreed to come in the first place had been to support her on one of her most difficult days of the year. Instead, I'd been part of the cause for making it miserable once again.

Taking her hands, I pulled her into a brief hug. I hated leaving on such a sour note. Yet if I didn't go, I'd end up physically confronting Paul, which would only make matters worse.

Pulling back, I looked into her watery eyes.

"Listen to me," I rasped. "You and I both know this is _not _the time to try and fix what's wrong between us."

"Then _when_? This has gone on long enough."

"I agree. Soon, but until then, I want you to think about what your continual living in denial is doing to this family."

Her mouth dropped open. Not waiting for a response, I dropped a kiss on her forehead and walked out the door with Stephanie on my heels.

"I can't talk right this second," I warned her bleakly.

I wanted to take off running for home, punch a snowman—anything to relieve some of this tension inside of me. Instead, I took my wife's arm to make sure she didn't slip on the newly fallen snow. Bundling her back into the SUV, I savagely began to brush off the SUV. I was just getting the last of it, when Adrienne opened the front door. Making sure no one saw her leave the house, she slipped and slid down the walkway to stand beside me, wearing nothing more than a skirt and a paper thin blouse.

_Now what?_

On a normal day, talking with my sister-in-law was like pulling teeth due to her shyness. She stood there now looking worn down and terrified.

"I'm so sorry, Joe," she apologized weakly.

"For what?" I shrugged. "You've been a Morelli long enough to know that's how our family operates."

"I feel partially responsible."

"Yeah? How you figure that?" I asked, tapping the brush against the windshield. I really didn't care what she had to say. I just wanted to go home.

Stephanie rolled down the car window. "What's going on?" she asked impatiently. Now that we were out of the house, she too was ready to escape.

Adrienne looked at us both. ""He's in love with her," she blurted spontaneously, her teeth chattering and her arms wrapped around her middle both for warmth and self-comfort.

_Huh?_

"Who's in love with who?" I asked, completely confused.

"Paul—he's in love with that girl—Jessie."

"Oh, for God's sake, no, he's not."

Her eyes filled. "It's why he's being such a jerk today. He wants to see her."

"How do you know?" I asked skeptically.

"He _told _me, Joe!" she snapped, dragging a hand through her long, blonde hair.

She looked downright fragile standing there, and I silently cursed my brother.

"He's been like a loose cannon since his release from jail."

"Define loose cannon."

"He's angry with everyone and everything."

"I need more than that, Adrienne."

She looked over her shoulder again.

"He's upset about Tony," she explained in a low voice. "He feels responsible. And he's angry about what Meachum and Stampler did to him. The refinery won't take him back, so we have no money coming in right now." Her voice dropped even lower. "He gets to drinking and tells me how he needs to talk to—to this Jessie girl."

_Goddamn it. This was NOT what I needed—more trouble from my brothers._

"Is he hanging out at The Pokey again?"

"No. He doesn't have the money to pay for the drinks, and he's too sulky to be around that crowd anyway. At home, he hides out in the basement, drinking whatever he can find."

Sounded just like Rocco, only _his_ holy sanctum had been the garage.

"What do you mean—find?"

"Our house, here at your mom's—wherever he can find a bottle."

My eyebrows shot up. "He's _stealing _liquor?"

This wasn't sounding anything like Paul. He'd always been a follower versus a leader, and he'd never been a heavy drinker until recent years when Tony had led him down a darker path because of his own internal pain. It surprised me to know he was resorting to liquid courage to get by now that he was a free man, but it would certainly explain his surly behavior at dinner.

"He says it's to numb the pain over what he did to Jessie. He feels badly because he loves her."

_Jesus, what a mess._

"Listen to me," I demanded fiercely. "Paul is _not _in love with a teenaged girl. You hear me? His head's just messed up right now."

"He's talking about going to Stephanie's parent's house to see her."

"How the hell does he know she's there!"

Adrienne rolled her eyes. "It's the Burg, Joe."

_Enough said. _She was right. Nothing was secret or sacred in the Burg.

It was time to cut the bullshit. "Is he mistreating you, Adrienne—you or the kids?"

She paused before answering, "No."

"That didn't sound convincing at all."

For the first time, she looked me squarely in the eye. "He hasn't physically harmed me or the kids."

Stephanie and I exchanged a brief glance. Adrienne hadn't said it, but there was an unspoken 'yet' hanging at the end of her declaration.

"When he drinks, it's in the basement alone, and he makes sure the kids are in bed before he comes upstairs. I don't think he'll hurt us. He never has in the past anyway."

"But?"

She tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Sometimes he gets this look in his eye when he's been drinking. You know what I mean?"

Instantly, I was back in the garage with my father.

_What were you two doing? I saw that girl fixin' her skirt. Were you two looking at this magazine? Were you touching each other?"_

"_NO!" I shook my head vehemently. "I'd never—"_

"_Shut the fuck up, Joseph. "You know what time it is, kid?"_

"_No sir."_

"_It's time to teach you a long overdue lesson."_

God yes, I knew that look.

Making every effort to forget the memory, I responded simply with, "Why'd you take him back, Adrienne?"

She shrugged. "What am I supposed to do? I have a high school diploma and no job skills."

Paul appeared in the doorway to the house. His voice rang out across the snowy landscape. "Adrienne! What the fuck you doing out there? Let 'em go! I need another beer, babe."

She didn't move a muscle.

"Do you love him?" I pressed.

Her eyes were twin pools of tears. "Love has nothing to do with it," she whispered. "I made vows before a priest."

I couldn't help but sigh. Before me stood another casualty of the Morelli curse.

"Adrienne!" Paul shouted louder. "Beer—now!"

I did _not _want to get involved, but felt compelled to offer, "If you need help—"

She straightened her spine. "I'm fine. I just thought you should know he's planning on talking to the girl one way or another."

Shivering, she backed away from me to return to the house.

"You call me if you need help," I repeated, loud enough for Paul to hear.

He stepped out onto the snowy porch in his socks. "My wife doesn't need _anything_ from you, Joey. You take care of your own business. We don't need you saving us anymore."

"Quit drinking and get your act together, Paulie," I warned. "You're better than the bottle."

He took another step forward and pointed at me. "Don't you dare give me shit after the way Stephanie led you around the past three years! _You're_ better than being trapped by two babies that might not even be yours." He raised his voice, yelling out to Stephanie. "Ain't that right, Babe?"

I was up the walkway faster than a blink, shoving him up against the doorjamb—only briefly aware that Ma was screaming in the background for Ron and Marcus.

"I should've left your sorry ass in jail. What the hell is wrong with you, Paul!"

"There's nothing wrong with me," he exclaimed, struggling against my grip. "Leave me alone!"

"First you bait me and insult my wife. Do you have a fucking death wish or what?" I gave him a hard shake. "Do _not _talk badly about her—ever!"

"Let me go!"

"Now I hear you've lost your mind and think you're somehow going to see Jessie—"

Paul whipped his head around to where Adrienne had come up behind me, along with Stephanie.

"You told him?" he fumed incredulously. "How _dare _you betray me like that!"

My hold tightened. "Don't threaten her! And you'd better not lay a finger on your wife and kids."

He may've been drunk, but Paul was still wiry—and a Morelli. Shoving me backward, he taunted, "Says who?"

Nearly knocking Stephanie over as I regained my balance, the move only served to incense me further. I charged again like a bull, knocking his head against the doorframe.

"Says me!" I shouted. "The goddamned cop who saved your ass from a prison sentence. But I'll easily remedy that fact if you so much as _think _about seeing Jessie again. I swear to you, Paul—" I gave him another shake for emphasis. "Listen to me!"

He tried to avoid my eyes, and I grabbed his chin to hold him in place. "You so much as _think _about seeing Jessie, and I'll arrest you on harassment, statutory rape and a whole host of other charges—real, trumped up or otherwise."

Ron and Marcus appeared in the doorway and tried to pull us apart. Meanwhile, Paul continued to pull at my hands, which were like two vises clamped upon his shoulders.

"You don't scare me, Joey. _Nothing _scares me. No one could live through the hell I just went through unscathed."

"Don't talk to me about hell!" I ordered harshly, my voice nearly as cold as the air outside. I was completely out of control. "_Hell_ is what my wife went through in that swamp because of your selfish stupidity. Hell is every moment I spent wondering if she and our unborn children would live or die. Hell is what your _best friend _is going through up in that hospital right now, knowing his life will _never _be quite the same thanks to you."

"Oh Paulie," Ma sobbed out from just inside the entryway.

A momentary flash of guilt washed over his face, as Ron finally managed to pull me off of him. He reached up to rake shaky fingers through his already tousled hair. "Leave me alone!" he cried heatedly, followed by a more desperate cry, "All of you—just leave me the fuck alone!"

With Ron still holding me, I hissed out one last warning, "Stay. Away. From Jessie."

Paul practically yanked Adrienne back into the house and slammed the door. The air around us went deadly silent. I could see several neighbors peeking out from behind their window curtains. Probably shaking their heads over how another Morelli Thanksgiving had been shot to hell.

"Go home, Joe," Ron advised quietly.

"I'm sorry—"

"No one blames you," Marcus spoke up. "But Ron's right. It's time for you to go."

Nodding stiffly, I turned to a pensive-looking Steph. "Let's go."

We quickly buckled ourselves back into the SUV, but I made no move to start the car. Instead, I leaned my head briefly on the steering wheel.

"That was no baby step, Cupcake. That was a fucking leap backward."

"I've never seen anything like it," Stephanie mused in awe.

I grimaced. "Well now you've seen for yourself what I've been trying to tell you. My family isn't the Brady Bunch."

"No, they're not."

"I'm surprised you haven't asked for a divorce yet." I quipped, only half-joking.

"Not in this lifetime, Morelli."

I blew out a frustrated breath. "Paul is severely messed up."

"We should warn my mom and dad he has designs on seeing Jessie."

"I can't figure him out." Swallowing hard, I added anxiously, "Are you scared I'm going to end up just like him and Tony? That our kids—"

She cut me off firmly. "Hell no! Our kids are going to be blessed with the most amazing father in the world. Look at how you were with Maggie and Leo."

A small smile escaped despite my worry. "You remembered their names."

"I did, didn't I? Hot damn!" Her entire face was lit up.

Taking her hand, I brushed my lips across her knuckles. "Our kids are going to be blessed with the most amazing mother in the world too."

She didn't look convinced, but her face softened. "Let's go home, Joe. I barely had anything to eat, and you ate nothing."

The dashboard clock read one fifteen. I started up the engine and backed out into the street.

"I'm not hungry, but you _do _need to eat."

"I didn't even get any of your mom's lasagna," she pouted.

"Consider it a miracle you didn't get indigestion."

The new snowfall had made the roads slippery again. We got as far as the corner where we needed to turn for home, when I stopped and looked at Stephanie out of the corner of my eye.

"Would it be okay if I dropped you off at your mom and dad's and then took a couple of hours to myself?"

Her hand reached across the center console to touch my thigh. "You want to see Tony."

It wasn't a question.

I should've known she'd understand without my telling her. _How the hell had I ended up with someone so perfect for me?_

"I don't know why. I just feel like I need go over there. I need to find out if he knows what's making Paul act like this—among other things."

"Then you should go," she agreed. "I can get a snack at my mom's. I feel a nap coming on after all that drama anyway."

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"The drama. You don't need this crap, Steph—not with a high-risk pregnancy and the recent nightmare you went through. I should never have taken you over there—"

"Joe—stop."

We pulled up in front of the Plum household. "I'm stopping."

"You know what I mean."

"I'll try, but it hurts, Steph." My voice reflected my inner misery. "The whole thing just hurts so badly."

She leaned over the console and pulled me into an awkward embrace. "I love you, Joe, and I'm not going anywhere."

I was so moved I couldn't answer.

"You need to talk to Cheryl," she added quietly.

Growling in resignation, I nodded. "I know. I'll call her tomorrow. Hopefully she's in town."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"Welcome to my humble home, Carlos," Hawk Sullivan announced, as his driver pulled into the long winding driveway of his country estate.

_Humble. Right._

It'd been a treacherous drive from the airport, one we never would've made had it not been for the Hummer. The rural roads had been the worst, and I found myself breathing a sigh of relief now that we'd arrived safely.

The general's house was massive—three full stories with a detached five-stall garage, guesthouse and riding stable. Several other Hummers and Suburbans already sat in the driveway. More than likely they belonged to the general's children, along with the company my host had mentioned would be joining us for dinner.

The driver let us out at the front entry, which had been swept clean. An older African American gentleman immediately opened the door. His eyes widened in surprise at my presence.

"General Sullivan, welcome home," he offered pleasantly.

"Thank you, George." The general handed him his overnight bag and gestured toward me. "This is Carlos Manoso—former U.S. Army Sergeant and periodic colleague, although we'd certainly like to eliminate that word former. He was stranded at the airport, so I invited him to join us. Have Gertie set another place setting, will you?"

He held out his hand for my coat. "Certainly, General. My pleasure, Sergeant Manoso."

"It's Ranger."

"Certainly." He turned to Hawk. "Everyone's in the livin' room, sir—'cept for—"

The general laughed. "Let me guess—Lynnie."

George grinned. "Yes, sir. She takin' her sweet time for shore today."

"No doubt because of Macon's presence," Hawk noted dryly. "Go call her, will you, George? We'll wait and walk in with her."

"Yes sir."

"Macon?" I repeated dully, my eyes flashing darkly as the house manager left. "Mac Colburn?"

"Why yes," Hawk sounded surprised at first, but then his eyes narrowed. "Oh God—I forgot. You have somewhat of a history with Mac as well, don't you? I'm sorry I didn't make the connection sooner."

My hand clenched at my side. Mac Colburn was the reason why the general's son Stephen had tried to kill me once all those years ago. Part of a rival Army Ranger unit, Mac and I had been sworn enemies from practically the first day our two teams met up. His treachery had cost me the first love of my life—the one I'd vaguely referred to with Stephanie during our lunch at Rossini's.

And the general was aware of nothing but bullshit lies his son had certainly fed him.

I hadn't allowed myself to think of Aaliyah in years and now she'd come to mind twice in the past month. Coincidence? Doubtful. It was more likely more bad Karma coming back to bite me on the ass if today's endless debacle was any indication.

Hawk continued, "Lynnie was engaged to him years ago. Something rather unfortunate happened, and the wedding was called off just a few days before the ceremony. She's managed to avoid him ever since—until today."

_Great. Now I was stuck in the middle of a goddamned soap opera. _The daughter was probably some ditzy socialite or military wife wannabee, who'd been stupid enough to fall for a rich asshole like Colburn. God, if I took one look at that bastard, I'd probably break his traitorous neck.

"Sir, perhaps I should go back to the airport," I said seriously. _Hell, yeah, I should!_

"Nonsense!" Hawk shook his head. "It's time to put the past behind us, Manoso. Come now—you're a goddamned United States soldier."

Not anymore, and that was the problem. As a former soldier, I knew exactly how many ways I could kill my sworn enemy. But as a civilian, I had no military code to hold me in place.

God, and I thought my hatred for Morelli was bad. He had friggin' nothing on this guy. Stephanie's husband and I were practically _lovers _compared to my hatred for Colburn.

Just then a figure appeared at the top of the massively tall, winding marble staircase.

The general and I looked up at the same time to see an absolutely stunning woman standing on the top landing. Dressed in a glittery gold sheath, her long honey-colored hair was a shining mass of ringlets that ran clear past her shoulder blades. I couldn't see her face, but she looked amazingly like the embodiment of the tortured dreams I'd had of late featuring the annoying Dr. Sullivan.

_Hunh—go figure she'd have the same last name!_

Suddenly my heart started pounding as the woman began her descent down the infinite staircase.

No.

Oh, fuck NO!

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

_Who was that strange man with Daddy?_

Annoyed to think my father had invited yet another person to dinner and more than likely as a potential suitor, I began the trip down the staircase feeling as though I had two lead feet.

_Why couldn't my parents just let me live my own life?_

The man looked familiar somehow. His dark good looks and the way he carried himself reminded me of Ranger Manoso, which was really quite laughable. Maybe Chip had been right. I needed to find a man to get rid of some of this pent-up sexual frustration on my part. Now it was causing me to hallucinate.

Except that halfway down the staircase I realized it WAS Ranger!

_WHAT!_

In shock, my stiletto caught on the edge of the stair, and I fell forward. Frantically, I made a grab for the railing to support me as my legs swung out, and I slid down several stairs.

"Lynnie!" my father cried, lunging forward.

Ranger was faster. Leaping the stairs three at a time, he reached out and grabbed my waist to steady me. I was half standing, half draped over the steps. Looking up into his nearly black eyes in shock, I flushed. I could barely think let alone provide an intelligent sentence.

"Are you all right?" he demanded gruffly.

I merely nodded still too overwhelmed to speak.

He pulled me up straight, so that our bodies were aligned perfectly. We were no more than a breath's distance from one another now, and for one brief instant, our eyes met and held. The heat that had simmered between us the last time we'd seen one another at the hospital nearly two weeks instantly reignited.

My lips parted, and his eyes zeroed in on them.

_Oh God!_

"Ranger," I whispered.

And then he answered, giving my body an imperceptible shake.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Zoomie!"


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Well, this will probably be the last Happy Friday I give you for a bit. The reason I've been able to crank out a chapter a week is because much of this was written during my so-called "break". LOL! I'm hard at work on the next chapter, but I can't guarantee it'll be ready a week from today. I'll do my best!

Once again, I'm indebted to my two fabulous beta girls. Julie and Kim, I'd be lost without the chance to bounce all of this stuff off of you both. Thank you for having as much passion for my story as I do.

And a HUGE thanks to all of you who continue to provide me with feedback.

Have a great weekend!

* * *

Chapter Five

**Cheryl's POV**

My heart was pounding harder than Floyd Mayweather's fists.

"What do you mean what am _I _doing here. The question is what are _you _doing here!" I cried, totally gobsmacked by Ranger's presence in my parent's home.

"I don't believe this," he muttered to himself, dropping his hands from my arms as if he'd been burned. "I _don't _friggin' _believe_ this!"

Released from his hold, I grabbed onto the hand railing for support. My knees were still shaky, but whether it was from nearly falling down the stairs or the shock of seeing the man now glowering at me I wasn't sure.

"Cherylyn! Are you all right?" my father called anxiously up from the foot of the stairs. He appeared oblivious to the reunion I was having with his guest.

"I'm fine, Daddy," I managed breathlessly, my eyes never leaving Ranger's.

"_Daddy_!"

Ranger's eyebrows lifted in stunned realization, and suddenly the unbelievable irony of the situation caught up with me.

"That's right," I confirmed, a nervous giggle escaping. "Welcome to our home, Grunt."

Sweeping past him dramatically, thankfully I made it the rest of the way down the stairs without incident. No sooner did my heels touch the floor, however, than my father lifted me off the ground in a huge bear hug.

"There's my Lynnie," he soothed, kissing me soundly on the forehead. "How are you, honey? It feels like I haven't seen you in forever."

"It's good to see you too, Dad," I replied with a wan smile. Straightening the collar of his military uniform, I added, "Happy Thanksgiving."

Ranger joined us, and my father smiled. "Cherylyn, this is Carlos Manoso, a former Army Sergeant I've worked with a number of times through the years. He's acquainted with Stephen and Mac as well."

I watched Ranger's eyes narrow at the mention of my brother and former fiancé. _Uh-oh—it didn't take a doctorate in psychology to know something was wrong there._

"And Carlos, this is my only daughter—Dr. Cherylyn Sullivan. She's a psychiatrist in Trenton."

Ranger nodded, his deep brown eyes giving nothing away as he looked at me but answered my father. "Yes, I know. We've met."

"You have?" Dad's eyebrows shot clear up into the gray hair brushed across his forehead.

"We have a mutual acquaintance, sir," Ranger explained smoothly. "And I live in Trenton too."

"By God, I'd forgotten that," Dad grinned. "What a small world!"

"And cluttered," Ranger muttered, looking very unhappy.

_What on earth was THAT supposed to mean?_

"Carlos' flight to Newark was cancelled," Dad explained. "I ran into him near one of the ticket counters at Logan and insisted he join us for our Thanksgiving. I'll have the driver take him back over tonight. Hopefully everything will have cleared up by then, and flights will be moving."

Ranger and I still hadn't broken eye contact.

"Newark?" I allowed the question to dangle uncomfortably between us.

"My family lives there," he answered shortly.

"You have family?" I feigned surprise, and then followed it up with out and out sarcasm. "And here I thought perhaps you'd just sort of popped into existence."

My father gave me a quizzical look, and I quickly bit my tongue. Rule number one in the Sullivan household: maintain self-control at all times.

George came down the stairs. Clearing his throat, he said, "General Sullivan, Mrs. Sullivan be right anxious for you to join the others."

"Of course—thank you, George," he nodded. Holding his arm out, he continued, "Carlos, Lynnie—follow me."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_Okay, I was ready to eat that dirt in Cambodia._

_ANYTHING _would be better than this nightmare.

Cheryl Sullivan, thorn in my side and a nuisance to my deprived libido, was the frickin' daughter of General Hawk Sullivan? Sister to Stephen Sullivan? Worse yet, former fiancée to Mac Colburn, the man who'd destroyed the woman I once loved? There weren't enough cuss words in the world to describe what I was feeling. What in the hell could Dr. Headcase possibly have seen in that sadistic bastard?

Hawk led us into an enormous living room already filled with more than thirty adults and children. Immediately a rather formidable, but beautiful older woman broke away from another mature-looking couple and came toward us at a fast clip. Her eyes zeroed in on the general.

"Cliff, where have you_ been_?" she practically hissed. "Everyone's been here for over an hour, and Gertie's nearly beside herself trying to keep the turkey from drying out."

Catching sight of me, she schooled her face into a polite mask. "Oh, I'm sorry. Forgive me—I didn't know my husband had a guest with him." She extended her hand. "I'm Barbara Sullivan, the general's wife."

"Carlos Manoso," I responded smoothly, taking her hand into mine. Her carriage bespoke white-bred pedigree and wealth. I watched her take one look at me and dismiss my abilities due to my Cuban heritage.

"Carlos is a former Army Sergeant and government contract worker, whom I've worked with on several occasions. He's a good solider," Hawk boasted. "And we're late, because the highway from the airport was closed. We had to take backroads all the way. Logan is where I ran into Manoso. His flight to Newark was cancelled, so I invited him to join us for Thanksgiving."

Good breeding took over for the woman of the manor. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Manoso—"

"Carlos, please, ma'am. Or Ranger if you prefer."

She tsked. "You military men and your childish monikers.

"Yes, ma'am." _What else was I supposed to say?_

"Carlos, I take it you've met our daughter Cherylyn?"

Her gaze scrutinized Cheryl's form fitting, gold-colored dress, and a small smirk graced her lips. Looking annoyed with her mother's eagle-eyed attention, Cheryl childishly rolled her eyes.

_What the heck was wrong with HER? _Even _I_ had to admit it was a great dress.

"They already know each other, Barbie," Hawk clarified, interrupting my own perusal of his daughter's attire. "Manoso lives in Trenton, and evidently, they have a mutual acquaintance."

"Oh? Who?" Barbara questioned rather airily. "Not that mealy-mouthed Evan LeMaire I hope!"

"Who's Evan LeMaire?" someone asked.

_Oh Jeez—that someone was me. What was I doing! Do NOT get involved with these people, Carlos._

"My boss," Cheryl supplied, looking perplexed at my interest, "and _very _dear friend. And no, it's not Evan, mother. Might I suggest we not worry about this right now? Everyone is waiting."

Everyone _was_ indeed waiting—silently—with his or her eyes glued to me—everyone that is except for Stephen Sullivan and Mac Colburn. I didn't even have to scan the room to know they weren't there, otherwise I would've felt their negative energy. Beside me, Cheryl _did _inspect the room and seemed to take an easier breath upon not seeing Mac.

Soon the others engulfed us, and introductions were made. The adults were stiff—the men pretentious and the women busy trying to outshine one another. I was taken aback by how well behaved the children were—even the very youngest toddlers. They were almost robotic in their manners and speech—nothing compared to the zoo-like atmosphere of my mother's house on a holiday. For the first time in a long time, I found myself homesick for Newark and my boisterous family, which was odd considering I'd always had a low tolerance for children.

A younger man, in his early twenties, stepped forward to grasp my hand.

"Chip Sullivan," he greeted with a firm shake and a grin. "I'm the youngest of this brood."

One simple sentence, and already I could tell he had more depth of character than the rest of his brothers. He reminded me of his father, one of the finest military men I'd ever had the privilege of working with—outside of the Army.

Chip's eyes looked across the room to where Cheryl had been dragged by several of her nieces and nephews. Turning to me, he lowered his voice.

"I overheard my father saying you know Cheryl? How well?"

The question had been asked innocently enough, but it didn't take a genius to hear the protectiveness in his voice. _Great, now I had some kid thinking I was after his sister, when in reality I couldn't get far enough away from her!_

"_Not_ well," I asserted forcefully. He gave me a stunned look, and I backed off a bit. "We—uh—have a mutual acquaintance."

He nodded. "So you said." Shifting his weight, he gave me an assessing look. "Are you pretty well connected in Trenton?"

_What the heck?_

"I'm not sure what you're driving at," I responded evenly, my face revealing nothing.

He looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm just curious if you happen to know a lot of people in Trenton."

The kid wanted something, but was doing a crappy job of digging.

"Anyone in particular you want to know about?"

He tossed a brief glance over his shoulder to see if Cheryl could hear. "Know anyone by the name of Javier?"

I had enough on my mind without having to deal with games. "Trenton's a big city, Chip. It's not Boston, but big enough. There are a lot of Javiers—several of whom I know. You got a last name for me? Better yet how about a reason for the question."

"No last name."

"Why the question?"

He let out a slow breath. "I'm concerned about my sister."

Against my will, my protective instincts kicked into gear, but I managed to keep my tone level. "Concerned how?"

"Last night she received a phone call from some guy named Javier. He's supposedly a former client. She wouldn't tell me what exactly he said to her, but whatever it was scared her. I know Cheryl, and she doesn't scare easily. I was just hoping perhaps you'd be able to shed a little insight for me—"

"Sorry," I cut him off roughly. "I'm sure I don't know anything that can help you."

God, hearing all this was the _last _thing I needed. What I _did _need was to get back to my life in Trenton and as far away from the Sullivan family—all of them—as possible.

Just then the hair stood up on the back of my neck, and Chip frowned.

"My brother Stephen and the Colburns' son Mac are back from looking at my father's new horse out in the stable," he noted grimly. _Why didn't he appear too happy with that fact?_

"Mac, you're back!" Barbara Sullivan cried out enthusiastically from across the room. Moving toward him, she continued, "Look who else finally came down while you boys were outside?"

Cheryl shot her mother a look that would've withered a lesser woman. Casting a nervous glance in my direction, she schooled her features into a mask of indifference and faced Macon Colburn.

I'd yet to turn around, so Mac's attention was focused directly on his former fiancée. He quickly crossed toward her, arms outstretched. "Lynnie—"

Cheryl stepped back to create immediate distance and held out her hand. "Macon—you look well."

My eyes narrowed imperceptibly. _Why had she stepped back—almost as if she were afraid of him? _She _should _be afraid of him. I may have been a mercenary at times in my life, but this guy was a cold-blooded monster.

Seemingly unfazed by her lack of enthusiasm, Mac grasped her hand. "Not nearly as good as you, Cherylynn. You're exquisite."

Both sets of parents smiled their approval, while beside me, Chip growled low in his throat.

_Interesting. _The kid brother didn't like him either. My estimation of him went up exponentially.

"Stephen, Mac," he said, stepping forward. "We have another guest. "This is Carlos Manoso, a friend of Dad's."

I watched both men freeze before slowly turning to face me. A not-so-surprising flash of fear crossed Stephen's face before quickly being hidden. Colburn's face, on the other hand, looked ready to burst from an aneurysm.

"Manoso." The word sizzled between us.

Cheryl's eyes flew to mine in concern. She too had heard the venom in his voice.

Everyone had.

"Whoa," Chip murmured under his breath.

Mrs. Colburn frowned, "What on earth is the matter with you, Macon?"

Behind her, Mrs. Sullivan put her hand to her throat in concern. Probably worried that her Persian rug might become stained from the blood Mac looked ready to draw from me. Had I known the woman better, I would've assured her not to worry. The only person shedding anything would be Colburn. I knew far too many ways to kill a man without drawing blood.

Hawk too sensed the tension and quickly nipped the matter in the bud. "Barbie, let's lead everyone into the dining room."

"Why, yes—that would be fine," she agreed breathlessly, casting another anxious gaze toward Mac. He still appeared ready to self-combust. "Mr. Manoso, follow me—"

"We'll have to catch up later, Manoso," Mac offered, his unspoken threat sounding about as pathetic as an extra in a low budget Western.

Cheryl made a beeline across the room to grab my elbow. "Never mind, Mother. I'll show Ranger—I mean—Carlos the way."

She practically dragged me ahead of the others into the massive dining room straight out of some medieval castle. The main table, made out of a deep rosewood, had seating for thirty-two, plus a smaller table had been set up to the side for the youngest children.

"What in the hell is going on?" she demanded angrily beneath her breath. "_How_ do you know Mac? Do you know Stephen too? Why are you even here!"

"Don't worry, I plan to remedy that last question immediately," I shot back. "Where's your father's driver? I'll have him take me back to the airport right now."

"No!" she shushed me, her golden eyes burning with enraged confusion. "Not until you give me some answers. When I left Stephanie's hospital room, I thought for sure I'd never see your arrogant face again, and now here you are in my parent's house in another state ready to duel with my ex-fiancé! _Someone _needs to tell me what is going on—now!"

My body responded instinctively to the passion she was exuding. The gold silk of her dress clung in all the right places, dipping low between her breasts and falling to just above her knees. Long legs stretched endlessly down to a pair of matching stilettos. Her light brown hair was completely untamed in a mass of ringlets, similar to the night I'd seen her at The Pokey.

"You need to settle down, Zoomie," I warned in a controlled voice.

"And you need to start talking!" she retorted. She took a step forward to jab a finger into my chest.

"Listen—"

The others entering the room suddenly drowned my voice out.

"Mr. Manoso," I have a lovely place setting ready for you down here at this end of the table," Mrs. Sullivan offered rather firmly. "Mac, why don't you take the seat next to Cheryl there."

"Actually, ma'am, I was thinking perhaps your driver—"

Before I could blink, Cheryl grabbed my hand, took a seat and pulled me down hard next to her.

"Carlos is fine right here, Mother," she said. "And I promised Chip he could sit on the other side of me. He wants all my carrots, don't you Chip?"

Chip rolled his eyes, responding dryly, "Carrots—yum, yum—my favorite."

Mac took the liberty of slipping into the empty seat. "I'm sure Chip would love to see you and I have the chance to reconnect after all this time."

_Over my dead body._

The thought shot out of nowhere. But I realized it was true. Watching his slimy moves, there was no way in hell was I about to leave the good Dr. Sullivan solely in the hands of Mac Colburn. Former fiancé, family friend—whatever—I'd seen the look on her face when he'd first arrived.

She was scared of him.

Remembering how she hadn't been frightened in the least by Deke Larson's advances at The Pokey a few weeks back, my internal radar sensed how serious this situation was.

Cheryl's younger brother clenched his fist, "What Chip would love is to kick your—"

"Everyone—_please _take a seat," Mrs. Sullivan commanded sharply, shooting a glare at her youngest son. "Charles, sit down."

The woman would've made a good drill sergeant. Then again, she already _was _one. She'd raised nine children after all. Chip took the seat directly across from Cheryl, looking as though he planned to keep an eye on both Mac and me.

At the same time, Cheryl turned her head and gave me the look Stephanie had always _tried _to give—and failed.

"Don't even _think _about moving," she warned through clenched teeth.

_Hunh._

This woman didn't fail.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

_Knock. Knock._

Using two knuckles, I wrapped lightly against the open door to Tony's hospital room where he lay watching the Lions game. A full tray of food remained uneaten in front of him. Hearing the knock, he looked over and smiled wanly.

"Hey, what are you doin' here?" His Jersey accent sounded weak and listless. "You should be over stuffing your face at Ma's."

I shrugged. "Thought maybe you could use some company."

"Hell yeah!" He gestured toward his tray. "Did you bring me any food? This crap here ain't even worth feeding Bob."

On the way over to the hospital, after having dropped off Stephanie at her parent's house, I'd worked hard to talk myself down from boiling rage to a steamy simmer following my run-in with Paul at Ma's house. There was no sense in blasting Tony with the full force of my emotions—not when my brother still looked as weak and fragile as he was.

Stepping into the room, I glanced at the football game. "Lions winning?"

"Are you kidding me?" he snorted, shoving the tray table aside. "That'd be a regular Thanksgiving miracle." He flipped off the TV. "How're the roads? I heard it's nasty out there."

"Not the greatest, but not nearly as bad as up near Boston. They got socked."

He gave another little grunt. "I wouldn't mind being outside in a blizzard about now. Hell, I wouldn't mind being outside of this place _period!_"

Carefully, I took a seat on the foot of his bed; all the while noting the numerous tubes and wires still connected to my oldest brother. They were a constant reminder of how close we'd been to losing him. _Thank God, we hadn't. _Regardless of my mixed emotions, I couldn't imagine not having my big brother in this world.

"Where is everyone today?" I questioned benignly. "I didn't see a single person down at the nurse's station when I got here."

He rolled his eyes. "Skeletal staff. I haven't seen a soul since they brought up this slop about thirty minutes ago."

"With service that lousy, it's a good thing you're not dying," I wisecracked, one side of my mouth lifting sardonically.

The remark was tasteless and totally inappropriate, but I knew it was the exact kind of sick humor that would make him laugh. And I was right.

"You got that right. Although, some days I feel like I still _might_ be dying."

Shifting on the bed, he winced.

"Pain still bad?" I questioned rhetorically.

He deadpanned, "I'll live."

To which we both laughed again, albeit a bit nervously.

He studied my face, one eyebrow cocked curiously. "You never did answer my question. Why are you here rather than Ma's? You didn't leave Stephanie over there to fend for herself, did you?"

"You mean like poor Angelina?"

He sniggered. "I'm not worried about Angie. She can give as good as she gets."

I looked at him like he was crazy. "And _Steph _can't?"

"True," he agreed, lifting the corner of his mouth. "If anyone knows how well your woman can handle herself, it's me. But there's one big difference. Angie's been dealing with our dysfunctional family a hell of a lot longer than Stephanie."

His face clouded. "_Was_ Angelina doing okay? Ma wasn't giving her any shit, was she? I was the one who demanded she go over there, knowing how Ma gets about Thanksgiving—"

"The whole meal was a mess," I confessed honestly. "I had to leave before I killed someone."

"Was it Ma?" he pressed, beginning to get angry. "Goddamn it, I got enough trouble trying to smooth things out with Angie. If Ma was mean to her—"

"No serious damage there."

"Then what?"

"Not what—whom."

It took only a brief second before Tony's eyes narrowed astutely. "Paulie?"

I met his penetrating gaze and released some of the frustration I'd forced back. "What the fuck is going on with him? He was out of control."

"Define out of control."

"A poor imitation of you," I responded rather snarkily. "He even sat in your seat today."

Tony didn't take offense at the comparison, but he did frown over the seating arrangement.

"What'd he do that was so awful?"

"Got tanked and pretty much attacked everyone sitting at the table—Cathy, Ma, your wife, my wife, and especially me."

"Ah Jeez. Give me a rundown."

I did, sparing no details and especially when it came to relaying Paul's veiled insinuation toward Steph when he'd called her Babe. By the time I was done, Tony looked more than upset—he looked guilty.

"He called her Babe?"

"Wonder where he got that idea from," I jabbed, leaving no doubt as to my feelings.

"I owe you an apology," he offered shamefacedly, and I about fell off the bed. "Actually, I owe _Stephanie _an apology, but I owe you one too, man. I was an ass a few weeks ago at your house."

Recovering quickly from the shock, I asked coldly, "Which time?"

Being Tony, he tried to brush off the tension with a smartass Jersey retort. "What—you want a running tally?"

"Sure."

The single-word response, spoken with steely determination, caught his attention. _Had he honestly expected me to accept his apology blindly? _No way. The emotions I'd tried to stuff down after the fiasco at Ma's had once more been unleashed, and—hospital or no hospital—I wasn't about to try and stuff them back down again.

"Alright then," he agreed nervously, running an unsteady hand through his hair and gripping the back of his neck. Clearing his throat, he began, "First, I made a pass at Stephanie at your wedding."

"And I told you to take your hands off of her."

Ignoring the dig, he continued, "Then again in your own home."

My expression was like granite. "At which point I _clearly_ told you to keep your hands off of her."

The hand on the back of his neck came around front and ran down his face. Sweat beads began to pop out on his forehead. He was feeling every bit of the antagonism I'd been holding back.

And still he went on bravely. "Then I _nearly_ assaulted her—"

"_Nearly?_" I shot back incredulously. "Don't fucking try that 'nearly crap' on me, Tony. You _did _assault her! You bruised her arm, scared the shit out of her and nearly choked her to the point where she passed out. If you weren't already so sick, I'd kick your ass hard enough to put you right back here in the hospital!"

He looked stunned. "She passed out?"

"Yes, you idiot! Carrying our two babies!"

Unable to sit still a moment longer, I hopped off the bed and began to pace.

Tony's face paled even further than the chalky-color from his illness. "I didn't know—"

"Don't give me that bullshit!" I cried, pointing a finger at my brother. "You knew she was pregnant. For God's sake, you practically accused the baby of being Manoso's!"

"Are you sure it isn't?" he had the audacity to ask. "I saw Stephanie with that Ranger character _plenty _of times, and they sure as hell weren't playing checkers!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Of course they're my children!" I yelled, deciding then and there I'd never share with anyone about the paternity test. It was no one's business but Stephanie's and mine. "And I can't believe you _spied _on her?"

Scowling, he tossed back, "I wasn't _spying_. But the way she had you coming and going all the time with those break-ups, I sure as hell made it my business to know _her_business through the years. "

"Why?"

The scowl deepened. "Why what?"

"I'm a grown man, Tony. Why did you feel the need to poke your nose into _my _business?"

"Because you're my brother," he said simply. "My baby brother, and as head of the family, it's my job—"

"Omigod—do you even hear how hypocritical you sound?" I asked disbelievingly. "You've repeatedly cheated on _your_ wife and haven't felt a moment's remorse, and yet you stalked Stephanie and had the nerve to call her on the carpet for a bad choice—?"

"It was more than a bad choice," he defended. "Come _on, _Joey! The _entire_ Burg and half of Trenton knew she was playing the two of you against one another—for a long time."

The thought that he'd kept tabs on Stephanie and me all these years made me sick to my stomach. It was bad enough knowing I'd been fodder for the water cooler gossip at work. But this was so much more invasive. Worse yet, he'd obviously shared it all with Paul and God only knew whom else.

"Stephanie is _not _that same person anymore," I enunciated, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

To my surprise, Tony smiled in admiration.

"No, she sure as hell isn't. Anyone can see she's just as crazy about you as you are her."

"She is, which makes what I'm about to say all the more easier."

Placing my fists on the bed, I leaned forward and captured Tony's gaze with my own hard expression. "Touch her inappropriately again for _any _reason, Tony, and—injury or not—I'll make you pay."

He acknowledged my threat with a simple head nod, and for the first time in three weeks I felt a tiny chink in the armor of antipathy toward my oldest brother break away.

Tony gestured weakly toward the foot of the bed.

"Sit down, Joey. Please?" he pled in a soft voice.

My conscience finally kicked into gear, and I had a momentary flash of guilt. Tony was in intensive care for God's sake! I shouldn't be yelling at him.

"I'm sorry for losing control," I said stiffly. "You're not up to this kind of shit. Maybe I'd better go."

"Shut up, little brother—and sit down."

Acquiescing, I returned to my former position at the foot of the bed. Tony's face continued to show sincere regret and concern.

"They _are_ doing okay, right—Stephanie and the babies?" He shook his head in bemusement, adding, "Hell, I haven't even congratulated you yet on the fact that you're going to be a father—twice over."

My mouth slanted in acknowledgement. "Thanks."

"You'll make a damned fine one too, Joey," he pronounced solemnly, albeit in a fainter voice. Our little go around had taken its toll.

I stared at him, trying to decide what to do. I knew he was exhausted, and yet here was my chance to finally get the answers to the questions that'd tortured my brain like some kind of flesh-eating bacteria the past few weeks.

"You really think so?"

"I _know _so."

"How?" I pressed, feeling the agitation rising again. "_How_ do you know? Knowing what we come from—knowing what's genetically inside us—knowing what you yourself have succumbed to—how can you say those words with such conviction?"

With a sigh, Tony leaned his head back wearily against the pillow behind him.

"What is it you really want to know Joey?"

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

Ranger and I remained locked in a battle of wills, staring each other down.

_Would he leave? _God, as much as I didn't like the idea of him being in my parent's home, I _really _didn't like the idea of being left alone at the table with Mac either. For whatever insane reason, I felt as though Ranger would serve as a good diversionary tactic to get through the meal.

Thankfully, my father took his place at the head of the table and said, "Let's all join our hands for grace."

_Shit. Which was worse—having Mac touch me or having to hold Ranger's hand?_

Mac immediately covered my left fingers with his and squeezed hard. I'd yet to turn my face away from Ranger and saw immediately when he noticed Mac's proprietary gesture. An indecipherable emotion flickered briefly in his cocoa-colored eyes.

He reached over and took my right hand, still not breaking eye contact, and _both _our eyes widened as an electrical current immediately hummed between us.

"Holy Father, we thank you for the bountiful gifts you've bestowed upon us this year—the gifts of good health, loving family and faithful friends old and new—"

Staring down at the two hands holding my own, I tried to concentrate on my father's prayer, but it was nearly impossible. I was too shaken for numerous reasons—mostly from the feel of Ranger's skin touching mine for the first time since one brief caress on my cheek in the swamp after a tree had nearly fallen on top of the rescue team. His fingers were firm yet soft—the mocha color gleaming in contrast to my milky white skin. The strong scent of his cologne only added to the confusing, yet intoxicating energy surrounding us.

"—May we treasure the gifts of our civil and religious freedom as well. And bless us, oh Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ Our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," we all chorused, crossing ourselves like the good Catholics my father paid good money for us to be.

Mac gave my fingers one last hard squeeze before releasing them. Leaning against me, he almost seemed to chastise me in his deep voice, "You're even more beautiful now than you were before, Lynnie. For God's sake, why haven't you at least returned my calls all these years."

I still hadn't looked him in the eye. In fact, I hadn't even raised my head, which allowed me to notice Ranger had yet to release my hand. Mac noticed too and frowned.

"The prayer's finished, Manoso," he announced coldly.

"So I heard," Ranger responded just as coolly. "Sounds like you are too."

"You bastard," Mac hissed beneath his breath, practically leaning across me to glare at him.

"Carrots!" I exclaimed, leaning forward quickly to break the two apart. In the process, I slipped my hand from Ranger's. "Chip, could you _please _pass the carrots!"

"Why gosh, Lynnie, I don't know," he drawled in an annoyed tone. "You know how much I _love _carrots."

Beside me, Ranger let out a small snort, and Chip grinned slyly. Thank God the rest of the table had struck up conversations as well. Our little drama was going unnoticed by everyone but the four of us—and Stephen, who was sitting next to Chip.

"What're you doing in Boston, Manoso?" my older brother challenged, looking both leery and annoyed with Ranger's presence. _What was the deal between these three men anyway?_

Ranger stared across the table for the longest time at Stephen without answering. I think only the fear of being rude in my father's home after his generous invitation kept him from ignoring him completely.

"Passing through," he finally answered in a tone so clipped most people would've stopped the conversation.

My family wasn't most people.

"To where?" Stephen pressed. "You've practically disappeared from military circles of late. Where are you hiding?"

Raw dislike radiated off of Ranger like a space heater. "I've never hidden in my life," he simmered, "and you damn well know that, Sullivan—"

"Turkey?" I squeaked out awkwardly, reaching for the platter and casting Chip a look that screamed for help.

Apparently, he was too fascinated with the conversation to care that we were about to see blood shed on Mother's antique Irish damask. He looked torn between admiration for Ranger and loyalty to Stephen.

"Why won't you answer the question then?" Mac scoffed, joining his best friend in the badgering.

"Because I don't answer stupid questions," Ranger responded evenly. His face could've been carved in granite. "You know exactly where I live and work."

Stephen and Mac smirked at one another, and my heart began to race, as the psychologist in me took over. _Why would they know so much about Ranger? _Not only was I confused, but I was also starting to feel hyper concerned over the animosity between the three men.

Chip innocently jumped into the fray.

"Carlos lives in Trenton. He and Lynnie are friends there."

_Oh Jeez! I don't need THAT kind of help, Chip!_

I fumbled nervously, "We're—"

"I live in Trenton now too," Mac stated brusquely, one eyebrow raised.

My mouth dropped. "What?"

Chip looked stunned as well. For all I knew, Ranger probably was too, but he refused to allow any emotion to show on his face.

"If you'd returned any of my calls, you'd know this already," he snubbed. "I've been there about a month now. Washington has me on loan to Princeton until June. I'm training their ROTC cadets in the latest electronics equipment being use by Special Forces."

"Why wouldn't you live right in Princeton?" I asked shakily.

_Mac was in Trenton? _The words spun through my brain, unnerving me more than I cared to admit.

"I'm also doing a confidential project with the Department of Military and Veteran Affairs right in Trenton. Housing was easier to find there. I'm renting a loft over in Mill Hill."

"Oh." My voice sounded about as dull as I suddenly felt inside.

Well aware Ranger was listening; Mac gave me a slick grin. "I've swung by your place a few times to see if you wanted to grab dinner, but you're never around."

"She's working," Chip volunteered testily, quickly recovering his wits and his attitude. "She works hard, Mac. She's a damned good psychiatrist."

"I'm sure she is," Mac returned, trying to capture my gaze. "She certainly always knew how to read me like a book, didn't you, Lynnie."

Chip didn't give me a chance to answer. "That book got tossed out with the trash, Colburn. She hasn't returned your phone calls. What does that tell you?"

Had my napkin been anything other than pure linen, it would've been torn to shreds by now. While we'd all systematically passed dishes and loaded our plates with food, I'd yet to take a bite of it. This was far worse than anything I could've imagined when Mother had told me Mac would be joining us for Thanksgiving.

Ranger noticed my wringing hands and shocked me by leaning over and speaking low in my ear. "Eat. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing how upset you are."

My head turned in surprise and our noses touched from the close proximity, sending another rush of heat through my system.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_What was I doing?_

_Hell, the last thing I wanted was to get involved in another messy triangle—NOT that I had any feelings for Cheryl Sullivan like I have—HAD—for Stephanie. _But seeing how miserable she looked and how unnerved she'd become by the revelation that Colburn was living in the same city as her, I couldn't sit still any longer. I knew only too well what a heartless bastard the man was. I couldn't stand by idly and not assist _any _woman being harassed by him.

And I'll be damned if she didn't have the sweetest smelling skin.

"What'd you just say to her, Manoso?" Stephen demanded across the table. "And exactly how well do you two know each other anyway?"

"I'd like the answer to that question too," Mac echoed irritably. "Cherylyn, why on earth would you want to associate with someone of Manoso's character in the first place? He—"

Chip retorted recklessly. "They're _good_ friends, isn't that right, Lynnie? Carlos was just telling me earlier how much he enjoys my sister's company. He seems to have great respect for her beauty, brains _and _abilities. He's a big fan of her profession too."

_What the hell was the kid doing? _He needed to shut up!

"He's a big fan, because he's a head case himself," Stephen scoffed.

The good Dr. Sullivan finally seemed to come out of whatever shell-shocked stupor she'd been in since sitting down to dinner. Glaring at her brother, she shot out, "Be quiet, Stephen. You're being rude to father's guest—_our _guest."

"That's right," Chip agreed sneakily. "Especially when Carlos has agreed to drive Lynnie safely back to Trenton as soon as the expressways are cleared."

_What the hell! _Shooting the kid a hard stare, I opened my mouth to deny the claim.

"You did?" Cheryl repeated dazedly, shock clearly evident on her face. "When?"

"When we were talking earlier," Chip persisted, avoiding my eyes.

"There'll be no need for that," Mac asserted firmly. "I was planning to drive you back—"

"I can drive _myself _back," the feisty psychiatrist fairly growled.

"Nonsense—you and I need to talk," Mac pressed.

"She has nothing to say to you, Colburn," Chip said pointedly.

"Stay out of this, Charles," Stephen horned in, frowning at his brother.

Shit, now I was stuck. I had absolutely zero desire to stay another minute in that house—let alone over night, followed by a four and half hour drive back to Trenton alone with this aggravating woman. And yet, my conscience wouldn't allow me to take a chance on Colburn hassling her either, especially if she didn't want to be near him. And then there was the whole business of the phone call from some guy named Javier that'd scared her. _Just what the hell was that all about?_

_And what exactly was the little brother's game in all this?_

"Chip's right," I spoke up decisively, while sighing inwardly. "I plan to ride along with Cheryl tomorrow. She and I have business to discuss."

Her eyes narrowed. "What business?"

"Now Zoomie, we don't want to discuss that in front of all these people, do we?" I hummed sweetly, watching the faces of Mac and Stephen turn beat red with frustration. Or maybe they were responding to the moniker I'd called her.

_Fuck it. Let the two bastards choke on their curiosity and their censure. _I was tired, hungry and furious over the latest upset to my well-ordered life. I was going to eat my meal and ignore this mess.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Tony's eyes, so like my own, pinned me with their intensity.

"What do you want to know, Joey," he repeated quietly.

The moment I'd both dreaded and longed for had arrived. Someone was finally willing to answer my questions about the past.

_But was I ready?_

"I'm not so sure you're up to this right now," I hedged, furious with myself over feeling so uncertain.

Tony shook his head tiredly. "You've waited long enough. You wouldn't have left Stephanie if you weren't really twisted up inside. This conversation is already twenty-seven years overdue so come on—let's do it. What do you want to know?" he repeated for the third time.

The words chafed despite the fact I was already feeling freer with my brother now that he'd apologized for the way he'd treated Stephanie, along with his acknowledgement of the potential harm he'd put her and our babies in. But that didn't mean I still didn't have a hell of a lot of anger fueling my system.

"What about the fact that there's no statutory limit on murder? You going to let that stop you from telling me the truth?" I asked somewhat bitterly. "Or what about the old 'I promised to keep a secret' crap you all keep throwing at me. You going to pull that if I ask the tough questions?"

No way was I going to expose to him the depth of my emotions only to be shut down again.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know. You have my word," he promised, looking uncomfortable but resolved.

Studying him, it felt as though I was talking to a stranger. I didn't know this Tony Morelli. In my adult life, I'd never known him to be this calm and resigned. _Had the shooting somehow affected his brain? His personality? Given him a new perspective on life? Was it the lack of alcohol in his system? _I felt off-kilter and uncertain of exactly how to proceed. And then it hit me how much I'd missed having him to look up to all those years. Poor choices and alcohol had robbed me of my original father figure.

"Joe, just ask," he urged.

"Did I kill Rocco, or did you?"

The words literally blurted out of nowhere. They were the _last _ones I would've consciously chosen, but evidently they were the ones my subconscious most needed the answer to. Deep down I still worried that perhaps I'd been the one to end my father's life.

I half-expected him to gasp or shout or cuss me out. Instead, he merely sighed.

"What do you remember about that day?" he asked seriously. "You were so young."

This was pointless. Already he'd avoided my direct question.

I moved to leave. "Forget this—"

He held out his arm to stop me. "No—don't go! There's a reason I'm asking. Just answer the goddamned question, will ya?"

I stared at him for a full minute before finally answering.

"I remember everything—being in the garage with Stephanie, getting caught by Rocco, his accusations and his threat to teach me a lesson. I remember him trying to choke me to death. I took the switchblade you had hidden beneath the Playboy magazine and stabbed him in the thigh with it. The next thing I heard was this banshee cry, and you were there, throwing him off of me."

"Paulie and I had been out cruising," Tony began reflectively. "Trying to find a couple of chicks to take out later to celebrate his birthday. We needed more gas money, and I remembered I'd stashed some in an old can of motor oil out in the garage. Paulie and I hated having money in our wallets. Rocco would steal it from us to buy booze, so we'd hide cash in secret places all over the house and garage."

He took an unsteady breath, and once again I worried this was too much stress for his frail condition.

"Let's stop for now—"

"Paul got waylaid talking to Fat Fanny Engelmeier down the street," he continued, basically ignoring me. "Remember her?"

I knew the name but not the face. "Barely."

He rolled his eyes. "Homeliest girl on the block. Anyway, she'd made Paulie some sort of god-awful peanut butter raisin cookies for his birthday, and you know Ma would've been all over his ass had he not stopped to thank her. So he told me to go on and get the money and meet him in the driveway."

All joking ceased as he suddenly paused and swallowed hard.

"I was probably thirty feet from the garage when I heard you crying out. I took off running and got there just in time to see you stab Rocco."

"You threw him off me," I marveled, remembering our father had been a huge man.

"Yeah," he scoffed self-derisively. "A shit load of good that did me. Despite having a knife sticking out of his leg, he managed to shove me into his workbench."

"I remember that too," I whispered hoarsely. "You struggled some more, and he pushed you harder. You were in pain."

"The pain was nothing_,_" Tony shot back viciously. "_Nothing _compared to what I'd endured in the past from that fucker and _NOTHING _compared to the pain he was causing you." He shook his head in wonder. "Christ Jesus, Joey. If you could've seen how beat up you were—"

"He took the knife out of his leg."

Tony's hands began to tremble, and he crossed his arms protectively. "Yes. He turned to use it on you, and I lost it. Here you'd _always _looked up to me as a kid, and yet there you were lying in a crumpled, broken heap on the ground. I felt like I'd failed you. I was struggling with Rocco, trying to get the knife away from him. In the course of the fight, I somehow tripped him, and he fell onto the knife."

My eyes bored into his. "Is that the truth, Tony? By God, you owe me the truth."

"I swear it," he vowed. "_Neither_ of us killed him. He fell on that knife himself—NOT that I wouldn't have killed him had it been necessary. I would've done whatever it took to protect you, but I didn't kill him."

"Then why all the secrecy? Why the hell did Ma try to cover everything up? There's no way a jury would convict you of murder—then _or _now."

He shook his head regretfully. "My record wasn't clean, Joey. You know that. I've had a habit all my life of making stupid choices, and the police were well aware of my wild, youthful rebellion."

"Still—"

"Ma knew it too. With no witnesses other than an eight-year old kid, who was practically unconscious, the police could've manipulated the evidence however they pleased."

"But they _knew _what Rocco was like. Hell, how many times were they called to the house—?"

"And how many of them turned a blind eye, because they were friends with him," Tony countered.

Suddenly Brett Rogers' words came back to me from our confrontation in his office the day after the swamp rescue.

"It was more than friendship," I admitted. "According to Rogers, Rocco had information on the police chief before Barlow—guy by the name of Gunger. The two of them ended up with the same hooker one night. Rocco threatened to expose him among the TPD, and consequently, Gunger turned a repeated blind eye to the hell he wreaked, including in our own home."

At the mention of my boss, my twin companions of bitterness and anger once again rose to the surface.

"That's another thing that pisses me off," I said bitingly, casting him an angry glare. "How could you have watched me work with Rogers all these years—especially after the Kennard mess when he was appointed acting chief of police—and _not _have told me he was there that day in Ma's garage!"

Tony ran a shaky hand through his unruly bed head. "I thought I was protecting you. We _all _thought we were protecting you."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off in annoyance.

"Listen, _Joseph_—I get that you're angry with me—with Ma—hell, with all of us—but you _have _to stop looking at this from merely your viewpoint. More than just your life was affected that day."

"I know that—"

"No, I don't think you really do!" he shot back with the most heat I'd seen from him since the shooting. "You're singularly focused on the fact that your family kept this big secret from you all these years. Well, you're right—we did. And it sucks for you—I get that. I'm sorry for the pain it's caused you. But when are you going to try and understand the rest of us have gone through _years _of hell too!"

"I do under—"

He rolled right over me with eyes looking a little wild. "No, you _don't!_ You don't know the hell we endured in that house! Endless arguments downstairs when Dad would come home drunk and Ma would confront him, only to end up getting slapped or punched or kicked for her efforts. For _years _I listened to that shit from the top of the stairs, knowing I wasn't big enough yet to face him head on—to protect Ma. But I could protect the rest of you, and any chance I could, I'd divert his anger onto me, so the rest of you didn't have to bear the brunt of his wrath!"

Those damned parasitic fingers of guilt immediately grabbed onto my conscience. He wasn't telling me anything I didn't know—or was he?

"You _think_ you know about Cathy and Mary and the hell they endured, but do you have any fucking idea what it was like to stand in the kitchen with Ma, knowing what he was doing with them—calling the police only to have them ignore our pleas for help—plotting how we could get in there and stop him without having him harm the girls? Because that's what he did, Joe—he threatened to kill the girls if we so much as even tried to open that locked door."

His eyes filled with hot, angry tears. "Think about the day he died, Joey. Think about how you felt when your own father whipped you with his own goddamned belt—"

_Again, the leather creased my skin, the sting so strong I almost passed out right then and there. Slowly my mind and body began to disengage. It was as if I were floating on the ceiling and looking down on what was happening._

"_Please stop," I keened breathlessly, completely oblivious to the tears and snot running all over my face. "Don't you love me?"_

"—punching you, kicking you—" Tony continued grindingly.

"_Did I ask you to talk!" he roared, lifting me like a sack of potatoes and shoving me against the stack of milk crates holding the magazine and his watch._

_Everything went flying as I crashed, and I realized I'd landed on top of his watch. He kicked me aside, and I quickly huddled into a ball, watching in horror as he stared down at the mangled timepiece. If I'd had the strength, I'd have run while he bent down to retrieve it. He took one look at the destruction and kicked me again—this time in the ribs. I coughed hard, strangely fascinated by the blood pooled in my hand when I pulled it away._

"—the all-consuming pain—" Tony rasped agonizingly. He choked on the words, and my own eyes burned with unshed emotion.

_And then Tony was on top of HIM, trying to tear his hulking body off of mine. The additional weight crushed my already bruised ribs hard against the concrete of the garage floor. Oh God—Oh God—the pain was wicked. Someone—please—help me!_

"That was my life—_all _the time!" my brother exclaimed, slapping the bedrail with the palm of his hand.

_Oh God, how had he survived? How had ANY of us survived?_

Tony didn't stop the tears now falling from his eyes. "I know we've hurt you, Joey, and in the process of keeping this secret, we intentionally alienated you from the rest of us, but I swear to God, it was because we were all scared out of our fucking minds—scared of the police, scared of what would happen to Ma and the rest of you if I had to go to prison, scared—"

I held up my hand. "I can understand it when I was a child, but _not _when I was a grown man and a friggin' cop myself—"

"It was just easier," Tony sighed, completely spent now from his impassioned outburst. "After Rocco was dead, we all retreated into our own worlds. The need for secrecy was the perfect excuse to avoid having to deal with our own pain.

"_None _of you ever talked about it with each other?"

"No. It's like we all just pretended that part of our lives never existed. Looking back with a clear head now, we all needed help of some kind. God knows the girls did—and Ma—"

"And you," I pressed.

"And me," he agreed wearily. "But you didn't do that back then, Joey. You didn't go running off to talk to counselors and shrinks. Worse yet, so much of the pain was tied to the hell we all lived through, and we weren't supposed to talk about _that_ because of the goddamned pact." His eyes implored me to understand. "Don't you see? It was like that friggin' hamster of Steph's—the one who died while I was staying with you—"

"Rex?"

"Yeah. That dumb thing spent practically his whole life on a stupid wheel—running, running, running—chasing after nothing but an endless circle. That's what my life feels like Joe. I've been running from my pain all my life only instead of chasing a wheel, I've chased alcohol and women—thinking both would help me forget. And all the while I've been pushing myself closer to the one man I most wanted _TO _forget."

He paused and gazed at me sorrowfully. "I've become just like Rocco."

I couldn't answer him, because unfortunately to a certain extent it was true—minus the physical abuse of his wife and kids. And that in itself was probably nothing short of a miracle.

Swiping at the remaining tears on his face, he added dully. "All this time I had an unbelievably beautiful and loving woman right in front of me—one who's given me six gorgeous kids of my own, and I purposely hurt them, because I was so afraid Angelina would wake up and see what a mess she'd married."

"You do love her then?" I asked pointblank, trying not to sound critical of his past actions but recognizing the familiar disdain for the humiliation he'd caused Angelina and the kids.

"_Yes_, I love her," he snapped exasperatedly. "I've loved her since she was seventeen years old, and I walked into her father's garage and saw her for the first time. But fat lot of good that's going to do me now." His voice caught. "I may've lost her for good this time."

Somehow I'd allowed myself to forget that Angelina had only been seventeen—the same age as Jessie—when Tony had gotten her pregnant.

He saw the contemplative look on my face and grimaced. "I know what you're thinking, and you're right. It was asinine of me to have encouraged Paulie to make a move on Jessie that night in Newark. I have no excuse, but, I will say in our drunken state and by the way she acted, she sure as hell seemed older than seventeen."

"He claims he's in love with her," I pronounced cynically.

Tony scowled. "Well, that's a bunch of cow manure."

"I know."

"He loves Adrienne. I know he does—and the kids. He's friggin' crazy about his kids. You've seen the way he is with them." He thunked his forehead with the palm of his hand. "God! His head is SO messed up right now."

I rolled my eyes. "Ya think?"

"I'm serious. He's got a lot of crap pumping through his brain these days. And I'm not helping matters anyway."

His last statement caught me off guard. "What do you mean by that?"

An uncomfortable silence fell between us, while Tony stared at his hands and contemplated his next statement.

"Tony?" I nudged impatiently.

"Paulie's angry with me, because I've just upset his whole order of life."

"What the hell does that mean?" I snorted.

Exhaling slowly, his answer came straight out of left field.

"A priest has been visiting me regularly since last week."

"Father O'Malley?" I assumed in surprise, naming the ancient priest from St. A's, the parish in which we'd grown up.

The guy had baptized and confirmed all five of us Morelli kids. He'd married all but Stephanie and me too. And had looked to be about a hundred and twenty when he'd done all of it. I couldn't imagine how old he had to be now. Probably Ma had arranged for him to visit.

The corner of Tony's mouth twitched. "Nah—some young guy fresh out of the seminary—Father Koerner. He's one of the chaplains for the hospital. He found out from my chart I was Catholic and has been stopping in every day."

"And?" I asked warily, still taken aback by the shift in topics.

"Long story short—we've talked a lot. I've been able to confess some stuff to him, and he's helped me to see some hard truths about my life—the greatest of which is I'm sick."

"Hell, I could've told you that," I joked sardonically, feeling inexplicably uncomfortable with the direction of our conversation. Despite being a very spiritual person privately, talk of priests and confessions wasn't exactly my strong suit.

"Not just _physically _sick, Joey," Tony responded seriously, and all joking ceased. "I'm messed up emotionally too."

I didn't say anything, because we both knew it was true. I just couldn't believe he was actually admitting it to me. Now I understood the change I'd noticed in him earlier. He'd clearly come to some sort of self-realization. The question was just what had he realized?

"Never having dealt with all that shit as a kid, along with the guilt I've felt about my role in the night Rocco died, has left me incapable of being the husband and father I need to be."

I lifted an eyebrow. "You been watching Dr. Phil again?"

"I'm bein' serious here, Joey!" he chastised in his best Jersey drawl. "Shit, Gio's fourteen and so embarrassed by what Paul and I did, he can barely stand to be in the same room with me."

"He's a teenager," I offered without conviction, knowing how pathetic the excuse sounded. "They all get embarrassed."

"Yeah, well I know what _that_ kind of embarrassment feels like first hand. Hell, I felt the exact same way about Rocco."

"We all did."

Tony was no longer listening to me. He was too busy punishing himself.

"When I found out Angelina was pregnant with Gio, I vowed my children would never be afraid or ashamed of me, and now look what I've become."

"Gio will get over it—"

"I don't _want _him to get over it!" Tony erupted furiously, glaring at me. "I don't want to try and sweep _any_ of this bull crap under the rug anymore. Jesus, look at the example I've set for my girls—running around on their mom all these years! How can I possibly ever make that right again?"

The better question was what could I possibly say to him when every word coming from his mouth was truth? I wasn't sure whether to be disgusted or saddened by the fact he was only now realizing what the rest of us had known for years.

His voice grew hoarse with emotion. "I don't want my kids to grow up hating me like we _still _hate Rocco. I don't want to lose my wife—although I think I may already have."

"Not from what I can tell," I hastened to assure him, looking for any bone to help ease the tension. "Angelina came as soon as she heard about the shooting. She's been here every day since. She went to Ma's today, because you asked her to—"

"And all of it is for the kid's sake," he ground out. "She doesn't trust me within an inch of her life, and who can blame her?"

"Have you told _her _any of this?"

"I've tried, but she doesn't trust me. I may be sober right now, but we both know once I get out of here I could slip back to drinking in a heartbeat. Shit, sometimes I think alcohol _is_ my heartbeat."

"What about the women?"

"I'm done cheating," he said emphatically, chopping at the air with his hand, but then stopped and shook his head in self-revulsion. "Who the hell do I think I'm kidding? I can't make promises like that."

"Why not?"

"I _want _to be done with drinking and women, but I'm weak. I'm so goddamned weak, Joe. My head is massively screwed up, but I _do _know I don't want to live like this anymore."

Listening to Tony pour out his guts, I felt something akin to sympathy for the first time in years. More importantly, I felt like I was getting a glimpse of the old Tony—the one who'd done everything he could to make certain I had a father figure as a kid. Perhaps I was being a gullible fool, but I believed him. He wanted to change.

"What did this Father Koerner suggest?"

"Again—long story short—but he and Richard Samuelson have met and are working together to try and convince the judge that instead of going to jail to fulfill my failure to appear charge, I be allowed to go to rehab instead once I'm discharged from here."

"_Rehab_?" I echoed in shock.

It wasn't that I was opposed to the idea. In fact, I couldn't think of anything better. But I couldn't imagine Tony of all people even considering the idea. _What in the hell had that priest said to him to have caused such a dramatic change in my brother?_

He shrugged. "There's a place in Bridgetown called The Seabrook House. It's a five-week intensive detox program. After you complete it, you have the option to go to their long-term facility in Pennsylvania for an additional ninety days."

_Whoa._

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" I marveled, not quite certain whether I completely trusted his seemingly new attitude or not. Years of watching his obnoxious behavior had me doubtful.

On the one hand, I felt sick to my stomach—almost embarrassed to think he needed that much help. It reminded me of how fucked up my family truly was, including myself. Which brought me to the other hand where I was forced to admit that while Tony may have hidden behind booze and women, I too had been in hiding the past two weeks. Cheryl Sullivan had made more than one attempt to meet with me, and I'd completely blown her off out of humiliation for the way I'd fallen apart on her the night Stephanie was brought to the hospital. I'd used work and my arrogant sense of self worth as a strong cop as diversions from having to face the truth about my family and me.

"Of course I'm serious!" he exclaimed. He gave me a fierce look. "And it's _not _just because I'm thinking it's an easy way to get out of serving jail time either."

"What is it then?" I pressed, needing to hear the words myself even though I had a pretty good idea where he was going with all this. _Hadn't I been having some of the exact same thoughts of late?_

His brown eyes pierced my soul with their misery. "Joey, I'm forty-five years old—the same age Rocco was the night he died. I don't want to end up like our old man. I don't want to be known as some loser father, whose kids hate him. I don't want to be dead before I'm fifty. Dr. Trombley says my liver is damaged from the alcohol. Now I'm down a kidney. My health is _already_ forever compromised, but goddamn it—I'm alive. And I want to _stay _alive to see my kids grow up."

"Does Samuelson think you have a shot at convincing the judge?" I asked, referring to Tony's attorney.

"There's always a shot until they say no, right?" he muttered. "Trouble is the facility costs a friggin' fortune, and I don't have insurance. The refinery let me go. I don't even have the money for these medical bills I'm racking up right now. I feel like throwing up when I think about how much those are going to be."

"How much is the rehab?"

"You don't want to know," he said dryly, grimly shaking his head.

"How much?"

He avoided my gaze. "Twenty-six for the first five weeks and then twenty-seven for the next ninety days."

_Crap._

"We're talking hundreds, right?"

"Thousands."

_Holy Shit._

"Fifty-three thousand dollars total?" I breathed in astonishment.

_Where in the world was he going to find that kind of money?_

"Yeah—plus medical bills, attorney fees, no job and a family to support. Hell, I'm not even sure what the doctor is going to allow me to do once I get out of here. We both know I'm not trained to do anything _but _physical labor."

The reality of his situation became glaringly clear, and I wanted to throw up too.

"You said Paul's got a lot pumping through his brain, and you're not helping matters. What does that mean?"

"He came to see me Monday. I told him about my visit with the priest, and what he and Samuelson were trying to do for me. I asked him to consider going into rehab with me."

"Which pissed him off," I assumed.

"Among other things," he agreed. "Listen, Joey—Paulie's never been a leader. Since we were toddlers, he's followed _my_ lead, which in this case led right down the path to self-destruction. I told him we could do this rehab thing together—get a fresh start, try to salvage our marriages, kick the alcohol—and in his case the drugs—"

I jumped on that last statement, my cop instincts instantly on red alert. "You think he's still using drugs?"

"I don't know," Tony replied honestly. "I don't think he has the money for it, but it's possible he stashed away some of Meachum's product over the course of his undercover gig. He never did hard-core drugs until he had to infiltrate Meachum's organization, but with our family's tendency toward addictiveness, his becoming hooked is certainly a possibility."

My brain was working overtime.

"He's got to be smarter than to stash drugs," I said worriedly, almost to myself. My mind was moving a mile a minute. This was a whole new angle to explain Paul's behavior I hadn't even thought about. "He wouldn't risk getting arrested for possession, would he?"

"I don't know," Tony repeated. "I'm serious. All I know is he freaked out when I mentioned rehab. He's fueled by anger right now—anger at Meachum, anger at being duped by Stampler, anger at you for having to rescue us when we're supposed to be the big brothers, anger at me for changing the status quo on him. He thinks I've copped out, and he's jealous because I've been using you as an example of someone I'd like to emulate."

"Me!" I repeated in shock.

"You're a good man, Joe," Tony praised, looking almost like a proud father. "Which is exactly how we all hoped you'd turn out when we made the pact all those years ago. We wanted to protect you from the ugliness of our family in hopes you'd one day redeem the Morelli name in the community. By God, you've done that—and more."

The resentment was back.

"You know, it was a hell of a lot of pressure you all put on me—pressure I didn't ask for or want, especially from Ma and Grandma. It hasn't been easy," I muttered.

Tony thought about it for a moment.

"I didn't make it any easier either by resenting you so much. I'm goddamned proud of what you've done with your life, but there are times I've begrudged you for what I felt were sacrifices _I _made in order for you to have the life you do. It's twisted—I know. But I do need to thank you for helping Paulie and me get out of that mess with Meachum."

His words seared my soul as I thought back to my phone conversation with Bella the day before.

"_Not ONE of you has said I'm sorry—"_

"_And YOU haven't said thank you."_

The righteous anger I'd been carrying around for weeks suddenly felt cumbersome and inappropriate in light of all that had just transpired between Tony and me. No question I was still hurt from having been left in the dark all those years by my family, and I was still furious at how their lack of honesty had almost cost me my wife and children. But for the first time since the entire ordeal began, I saw more than just my own perspective.

Tony's earlier observations were right. My family had used the need for secrecy surrounding Rocco's death as an excuse to avoid having to deal with their own pain. Worse yet, Tony had used alcohol and women to escape an entire lifetime of abuse—much of which he'd endured on my behalf. God knows I'd been headed down the same destructive path in high school.

_What might've happened to me had he not been willing to make such sacrifices for me?_

I'd managed an all-encompassing 'thank you' to him right after the surgery, but I'd yet to really tell my oldest brother what it was I was thanking him about.

Surprising us both, I leaned over and gave him a hug—a _real _hug as opposed to some sort of half-assed man thump.

"I'm the one who should be thanking you for what you were willing to do on my behalf," I acknowledged low against his ear. Pulling back just enough to see his face, I went on, "I owe so much to you, Tony—quite literally my life. I'm grateful."

"I'd say after keeping me from prison we're about even," he joked weakly, but I could tell my words had impacted him. Perhaps his own demons had been soothed somewhat by our conversation.

Noticing his face was white from both exertion and exhaustion, I opened my mouth to tell him I should go when the door to the room opened and the nurse walked in, looking like a bull ready to charge a matador.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, completely incensed. Her hands were fisted on the waistband of her uniform. "I didn't authorize this visit."

"No one was at the nurse's station when I arrived," I noted. Despite my casual tone, I found myself subconsciously straightening on the bed. The woman reminded me of Sister Agatha, the three hundred pound nun down at the parish, who'd been my worst nightmare during catechism classes growing up.

Ignoring me, she zeroed in on Tony's full tray of food. "Mr. Morelli, you need to eat."

"Bring me something that's edible, and I'll gladly eat," he tossed back irritably.

She fussed with his pillows. "You look exhausted. What on earth have you been doing up here?"

Tony met my gaze. "Having a really great conversation with my baby brother."

A sense of warmth I hadn't felt toward Tony in years surrounded me like an electric blanket.

Smiling, I addressed the nurse. "Any reason why Tony can't have a piece of pie to celebrate the holiday?"

She shook her head firmly. "It's not on his approved diet, and he didn't eat his lunch anyway."

I waited for Tony to put on the Morelli charm, but one look showed me he was done-in.

"Come on—would it really hurt him to have _one _little piece of pie on Thanksgiving?" I pleaded on his behalf.

"If he eats a better meal later, I'll consider it, but right now, Mr. Morelli, you need to take a nap," she said pointedly. "And your _brother_ needs to go."

"I'm fine," Tony protested, trying to push himself higher up on the bed.

"She's right," I said, sliding off the bed.

"No, don't go yet."

"I'll come back soon," I promised.

"I'm glad you came," he said, smiling wanly at me. "Tell Steph I'm sorry to have monopolized you on your first holiday together. Maybe sometime she could come up with you. I'd like the chance to apologize in person."

"We'll see," I responded noncommittally.

He grimaced. "If Paulie comes to see me again, I'll try and talk some sense into him."

My face went hard and unyielding. "You tell him to stay the hell away from Jessie. And if he's using drugs, tell him I'm going after him."

Tony nodded and closed his eyes.

I had my hand on the door to leave when he added softly, "Talk to Ma, Joey. She's dying a slow death worrying over all of us—but especially you."

"I will," I promised.

Ignoring the frosty glower of the nurse, I headed for the parking garage. It seemed almost unbelievable that I'd just had one of the most profound and healing conversations of my life with TONY of all people. I couldn't deny the fact he was a changed man. Whether he remained changed was another question entirely, but for that one moment—on Thanksgiving no less—I was hopeful, grateful—

And, yes, thankful.


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own any of JE's characters.

It's a snowstorm miracle, folks. I had a couple of snow days this week that kept me at home, and so I was able to finish my next chapter. Woo-hoo!

I continue to feel so blessed by all of you who take the time to let me know you are reading. The feedback is truly instrumental in helping to shape the story. I am also blessed to have Julie and Kim as friends and betas. They certainly know how to get me through the rough times when my brain simply isn't cooperating. Thank you both for your honesty and insight.

Have a terrific weekend everyone!

* * *

Chapter Six

**Ranger's POV**

"Alright, you've managed to drag me out here. Now tell me what that little grenade you tossed me at dinner was all about?"

Cheryl's brother Chip and I were standing in the middle of his parent's barn surrounded by ten of the largest horses I'd ever seen in my life. Well, truthfully, they were the _only_ horses I'd ever seen up close and in person, and I could see why. God, but they were huge beasts with those creepy, bulbous brown eyes staring down at me. No matter which way I moved, there was another one breathing down my neck.

After the Thanksgiving dinner from hell, where I'd miraculously restrained myself from killing Mac Colburn, Chip had shanghaied me away from the others under the pretense of giving me a tour of the Sullivan mansion. Not even bothering to grab our coats, he'd hustled me out the back door and through two feet of drifted snow to the heated stable.

"How do you know Stephen and Mac?" the young man countered brusquely, completely ignoring my question. "I don't recall having heard your name before." His eyes narrowed. "For that matter, how do you know my father? And what's the deal between you and Lynnie? You told me you were merely acquaintances via a mutual friend."

"We are."

"Then what's with the steamy gaze you two shared at dinner? That sure looked like more than acquaintances to me!"

I'll be damned if he wasn't right. For that one brief moment when our faces had been a breath apart, our lips mere inches from one another, it'd _felt _like more than acquaintances too. I hated the fact I'd been tempted to close the gap between us and give in to the images plaguing my nights.

Making sure my impervious mask was in place, I faced Chip head on and ignored his questions, asking my own instead.

"Why'd you insinuate there was more between your sister and me and then volunteer my services to drive her back to Trenton tomorrow?"

Chip rolled his eyes. "We're talking in circles here, Carlos—"

"Ranger."

"Whatever."

The two of us stared at one another, apparently deciding who was going to give in first.

_Sorry, kid, but I've spent a lifetime giving nothing away._

Several moments later, he let out a frustrated breath and admitted, "Listen, Cheryl is the most important person in the world to me."

The look on his face told me the conversation was about to get personal—something I _really _didn't want.

What I wanted was to get home to what used to be my well-ordered life—far away from the Sullivans, Mac Colburn and memories of Alliyah and the events that changed the course of my life forever. I wanted to swing by Newark and see my mother and grandmother for a brief visit; to see Tank and the rest of my men; and to find out from Stephanie what her decision was about the bonds agency. Hell, right then, I wouldn't even have minded seeing Lula and her smart mouth.

But in my mind, I kept seeing the expression on Cheryl's face when she'd looked at Colburn earlier. She hadn't been just annoyed by his presence. She'd been scared to death of him. _But why?_

"I don't care what you've conjured up in your head," I declared rather belligerently, "but your sister and I _really _aren't that close."

He shrugged. "If you say so. At this point, I don't care if you're lovers or sworn enemies. I need someone on the ground in Trenton who can keep an eye on her. I was only worried about this Javier dude at first, but now I've got to keep track of Mac somehow too. Having you drive Cheryl home tomorrow just made sense at the time I made the offer. I'm sorry if I put you in a rough spot, but it did appear as if you two knew each other better than you'd let on."

Holding up my hand, I said, "Back up. You need to fill me in on both these situations. Why is your sister scared of Colburn?"

That brought the young soldier up short. "She's not scared of him—annoyed as hell, yes, but not—"

"No, she's scared to death of him," I contradicted firmly. "I've spent an entire lifetime learning to read people, and I know what I saw. Colburn walked into the room this afternoon, and she looked frightened as hell."

"I don't know?" he answered, still looking bemused. "They had a bad break-up eight years ago—"

"Eight _years_?" I repeated in disbelief. "That's a long time. And since then, he's been contacting her once a month trying to get back into her good graces?"

Chip snorted. "Crazy, isn't it?"

_Insane. _Just like Colburn.

"What caused Cheryl to call off the wedding?"

The kid paused to give me a hard, assessing look, and I'll be damned if I didn't find myself liking him more and more. He obviously cared about his sister and wanted to make certain I was worthy of the trust he apparently was planning to place in me.

"She's going to kill me for telling you," he began, "but the night before the rehearsal dinner she walked in on Mac at his apartment with three other women, and they weren't playing bridge if you get my drift."

My hand clenched unnoticed at my side. The information didn't shock me, given what I knew of Colburn from our days in the Army. _And yet what kind of sick bastard would do such a thing? _Dr. Headcase may've been an unwanted thorn in my side of late, but I wouldn't wish that kind of humiliation on anyone.

_What the hell had Colburn been thinking anyway? _Cheryl wasn't exactly homely in terms of looks. With that honey-colored hair and bewitching golden eyes, her skin had looked unbelievably soft when our faces were nose to nose, almost as if it'd just been bathed in rose petals—

_Jesus! _I sounded like a one of those cheesy romance novels my sister Celia used to read when she was a teenager.

Deliberately schooling my voice, I continued, "What was his excuse?"

"The stress of the wedding. Said he slipped and wanted one last chance to sow his wild oats before being a one-woman man the rest of his life."

An old familiar rage bubbled in my throat. Colburn was ruthless when it came to women—children too for that matter.

_Stop!_

Shaking my head subtlety to clear it, I zeroed back in on Chip. "So what happened?"

"The day of her wedding Cheryl boarded a plane for California much to my parent's dismay. The Colburns have been their best friends for forty years. To this day none of them know what really happened—none of my brothers either. Lynnie just said she realized she didn't love Mac."

"They've blamed her all this time for the break-up?"

"My mother has," he acknowledged. "Anyway, she enlisted in the Air Force and became part of a unit stationed at Edwards Air Force Base. She ended up doing a tour in Afghanistan before coming back home. That's when she went back to school and got her Ph.D."

"Busy lady," I quipped, although inside I felt a sense of begrudging respect developing toward her.

"Smart too," Chip added proudly.

"So why would she be afraid of Colburn?"

The kid frowned. "I still think you're wrong about that, although—" He stopped short. "I'll admit—I've always thought there might be more to the story. Like I said, I'm the only one she's ever told about the women, but whenever I've tried to question her about the details, she clams up."

"Tell me about Javier."

"I don't know _anything _about Javier, and that's the problem. All I _do _know is she got that phone call last night, and it shook her hard. When I pressed her on it, she refused to answer."

"Could he be a current or former client?"

"He could be anyone," Chip huffed. "But since you don't know my sister that well, let me warn you—she's about as hardheaded as they come. If she thinks someone is trying to protect her, she'll run _toward _the danger just to prove you wrong."

I was already well aware of that facet of the psychiatrist's personality. Hadn't I witnessed it for myself that night at The Pokey—first with Deke Larson and then with her ridiculous heap of junk of a car? The woman reminded me too damned much of Stephanie with her obstinate, self-reliant nature.

_For God's sake—STOP comparing the two!_

Chip's eyes narrowed. "I've answered your questions. Now answer mine. How do you know Stephen and Mac?"

I almost laughed. If he thought I was about to share my life story with him, he had another thing coming. Only Tank knew what heartbreak and torture I'd experienced at the hands of this kid's brother and his mercenary sidekick.

"Mac was in Iraq the same time I was years ago—right after I joined the Army as an infantryman," I offered neutrally. "He was already in Special Forces in what later became somewhat of a rival unit to mine. As you know, there was a large military presence in Iraq even prior to 9/11."

"And Stephen?"

"Where one of them is—so is the other. You know that."

"But why the hatred?" Chip pressed. Clearly, he was still struggling between family loyalty and his own antipathy toward Colburn."

"Sorry kid—you'll have to ask them that question."

"But I'm asking _you._"

"What's going on out here?"

Cheryl had slipped through the doorway to the barn unbeknownst to both her brother and me. The fact that she'd been able to do so against my knowledge irked me to no end.

Turning, I saw her standing in the dim light of the lantern hanging on the wall beside the door. Behind her, the open doorway revealed late afternoon twilight and steadily falling snow. The woman herself was minus a coat and still wearing the clingy, form fitting dress from earlier. At least she'd had the common sense to slip on a pair of fur-lined boots rather than the ridiculously high stilettos she'd been wearing.

"Chip, I asked you a question," she snapped, hugging her arms around her stomach against the chilly air. Even though the stable was partially heated, it was still damned cold.

"Just giving Ranger a tour of the place," he responded blandly, unfazed by her irritation.

"In the stable?" she shot back, eyebrows lifted in disbelief. "Why, Mr. Manoso, I had no idea you were interested in horses."

"Giddy-up," I muttered out of the corner of my mouth.

A glint of amusement appeared in her eyes. Keeping them locked on me, she said to her brother. "Dad's looking for you. He wants you to tell the Colburns about how fall semester is going."

"Lucky me," Chip sighed. Heading for the door, he added, "Come on, Ranger, I'll take you back to the others—"

"We'll be there in a minute," Cheryl answered for me, still staring me down. "I need to speak with him first."

Chip's head swiveled between the two of us hesitantly. "You sure?"

"Go," his sister said firmly.

Chip slipped out the door, leaving us alone and mutually wary. I'd yet to move a muscle, however I _was_ the first to break the silence.

"How much did you hear?"

"Just the last bit about how you knew Mac," she admitted without a trace of guilt. "Funny how I've never heard your name mentioned by either him _or _Stephen."

"We weren't friends."

"And why exactly is that?" she wondered, stepping closer.

_God, she really was a beautiful woman. _

I'd been kidding myself by trying to think otherwise since our first real encounter at The Pokey. Long suppressed urges I hadn't felt in weeks, thanks to the pain of losing Stephanie, resurfaced, reminding me I hadn't been with a woman since my trip to Hawaii with Babe.

Eliza.

Stephanie.

Mrs. Morelli.

Hell, whatever it was I was supposed to call her these days.

But this woman wasn't Stephanie, despite the fact she had similar coloring and the same long, curly hair. Cheryl was taller, leaner and carried herself with the manner of someone who had good breeding.

That good breeding had for damned sure led to the gift of an incredible body. The way her arms were wrapped around her middle had caused the material between her breasts to separate, revealing soft, milky white skin.

Shit, they were _great _breasts too. High and round, they'd more than fill a man's hands.

_Stop it!_

"Ranger, I asked you a question," she said, coming to a stop in front of me, completely unaware of my licentious thoughts. "Why aren't you friends with Stephen and Mac? And how is it you've suddenly turned up in my life in Boston? I've never even heard my father mention your name before today."

"It's professional."

She snorted. "Don't you mean it's personal?"

"That too."

"Aargh!" she huffed, unwrapping her arms to run her fingers through her curls and causing the fabric to stretch even further across her chest. "You are such a friggin' jerk! Why can't you answer one simple question without giving someone the runaround!"

I barely heard her such was my fascination with this newfound awareness of her beauty. I wasn't sure which my fingers itched more to do—touch her soft, honey-colored tresses or those amazing breasts. For the first time since meeting the annoying psychiatrist, I wasn't focused on how much she reminded me of Stephanie. Instead, I was wondering how in the hell I'd missed the fact she was this insanely sexy?

_Your body didn't miss it, Carlos. Your subconscious has been recalling every inch of her beauty at night, imagining it over you, under you—every position possible._

"Well, you can just forget about taking me home tomorrow," she spoke fiercely, forcing me back to reality. Her cheeks were red either from the cold or anger. "I don't need a babysitter. I've been taking care of myself for years."

"Why are you afraid of Colburn?"

I slipped the question in out of the blue, quietly stunning her into silence. It didn't take but two seconds for her brain to catch up, however, and her cheeks turned even darker.

"_Not _that it's any of your business, but I'm not afraid of Mac—or anyone else for that matter."

"Liar."

Her mouth dropped open, furious I'd questioned her. "I'm a professional psychiatrist—one who is highly trained in recognizing and analyzing emotions! I think I'd know if I was angry or not."

"I saw the look on your face when he entered the living room this afternoon." Taking another step forward, my voice lowered. "What did he do to you, Cheryl?"

"_Nothing!" _she protested _way _too quickly. "Why are you even asking?"

I couldn't stand it another minute. I _had _to touch her.

Reaching out, my finger skimmed its way from her temple down to the corner of her lip. _Jesus, her skin WAS like friggin' rose petals. _

"Professional reasons."

"_Personal_ reasons," she tossed back breathlessly, shivering at my touch. The pulse in her neck was visibly pounding.

Good. I wasn't the only one affected by this crazy energy between us.

"Those too," I agreed, lifting one corner of my mouth. "What about Javier? Who's he?"

Her eyes were an open book. The fear and uncertainty from earlier were both clearly evident coupled with newfound awareness toward me as well.

I sensed her dilemma. "Zoomie, I've just endured the Thanksgiving Day from hell. The least you can do is humor me."

"I don't want to talk about either situation but especially _not _about Mac."

Her arms were wrapped back around her waist, and I had to physically will myself not to wrap _my_ arms around her. A woman who looked both uncertain and fragile had replaced the tough, former servicewoman turned psychiatrist, and God knows I was a sucker for a woman in need. It was one of the major attractions Stephanie had been for me.

_Stephanie._

Fuck.

There she was again in my mind—like a nagging toothache that refused to provide relief. My trip to Miami obviously hadn't relieved me of the heartache I still felt over the loss of her in my life, and I had no business being attracted to this woman when my heart still belonged to another.

"I don't understand why you keep showing up in my life?" Cheryl whispered dazedly. She was still caught-up in the moment and hadn't felt the change in my body language yet.

I needed to put an end to these sultry thoughts—_now_—and understand that my momentary loss of mental control had merely been a result of too many weeks of celibacy.

Taking a conscious step backward to put distance between us, I said sarcastically. "Bad Karma on my end. Believe me, I have no interest in getting involved in your life."

Her expression went from aroused to annoyed at the verbal slap. She too stepped backward, scrambling for control.

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

"Believe _me_, your involvement is neither wanted nor needed," I retorted coldly, affectively ending yet another electrically charged moment between us. At least I _thought_ it'd been charged. Seeing Ranger's impassive face now, I wondered if maybe I'd only imagined his interest moments ago.

_No! The way he'd raised his hand to stroke my cheek had to have meant something, didn't it?_ _And_ w_as I losing my mind thinking for even an instant I WANTED it to mean something?_

I was so confused. I'd been nothing _but _confused since seeing him at the foot of my parent's staircase. My nerves were completely rattled—first from last night's phone call from Javier, then the shock of seeing Ranger, and most importantly the stress of seeing Mac again. Now, in addition to wondering why the two of them despised each other, I was left to wonder about this absurd connection between Ranger and me.

_Wasn't he in love with Stephanie Morelli? Had he momentarily transferred his feelings for HER onto me?_

Whatever the reason, it was time for him to go!

"Come on; let's see about getting you back to the airport," I urged ungraciously. "Maybe the flights are up and running again."

"I'm not going anywhere. I told your kid brother I'd get you back to Trenton safely, and that's what I'm going to do. My word means something."

Her eyes flashed. "I'm not a child—"

"Then don't act like one. Start looking at this practically. You need to get to Trenton. I need to get to Trenton. It's a win-win for both of us."

"How do you figure that?"

"I get to go home, and you don't have to deal with Colburn insisting on taking you."

_Excellent point._

He smirked. "Look on the bright side. You have a piece of shit car that may or may not kill us both on those roads. At least you won't die alone."

Scowling, I tried not to be intrigued by how the corners of his mouth had an infinite number of little quirks he used to define his emotions. "No doubt a Grunt like you finds this situation hilarious."

"No, but I would be interested in knowing the truth. _Are _you in danger, Zoomie—either from Mac or this Javier dude Chip is so uptight about."

I wasn't about to share something that personal with Carlos Manoso. Part of it was my God-given, obstinate nature, but I also had the overwhelming feeling that allowing this man access to my personal life would take my heart down a road I wasn't certain I wanted to travel.

After all, he was in love with another man's wife.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"Helen, Val's here. It's almost six o'clock. Let's eat," my father's aggravated voice carried into the kitchen where my mother, Grandma Mazur, Jessie and I were putting the finishing touches on dinner.

Well, _they _were putting on the finishing touches. I was eating a cookie.

"But Joe isn't here yet," Jessie fretted, looking up from her task of putting dinner rolls in a basket. "Where is he?"

Sprawled in one of the kitchen chairs, I wasn't certain whether to be amused or annoyed that my parent's new ward seemed so infatuated with my husband. I had no doubt her interest wasn't sexual. If anything, it was a little crush brought on by the fact he'd been kind to her and provided a sense of consistency to her disorganized and rapidly changing world. Still, considering she'd slept with Joe's brother, the whole thing was more than a little weird.

"He'll get here when he gets here," my mother replied distractedly. She and Grandma Mazur were examining the turkey they'd just pulled from the oven like scientists in a laboratory. "Why don't you go say hello to Angie, Mary Alice and Lisa."

"Jeez—I'm not a babysitting service, you know," the teen huffed before flouncing out of the kitchen.

"Fun times," I quipped after she disappeared. "How does it feel having a sulky teenager in the house again?"

"Hunh—this go-round's a heck of a lot easier than when _you _were a teen. Isn't that right, Helen," Grandma Mazur noted, setting a silver platter next to the bird. "Your mother's learned a thing or two after all the mistakes she made with you."

My mother paused to glare at her. "I'm holding a knife, you know."

"What?" Grandma shrugged innocently. "I'm just saying nothing's getting by you this time. And if it does, I'm here to back you up."

_Ha! _I could only imagine what kind of back up my grandmother would supply—probably the keys to Big Blue and a 'don't do anything I wouldn't do.'"

"Good to know you've got my back," my mother agreed sarcastically. She began to deftly carve her masterpiece, and without missing a beat, turned her annoyance onto me. "Stop eating those cookies, Stephanie. You want to feed your babies nothing but junk? What would Joe say if he saw you stuffing your face like that?"

I lowered my voice trying to imitate Joe's. "He'd say, 'good for you, Cupcake. Enjoy the holiday'."

Her face was turned away from mine, but I still sensed her smile. "Well, a carrot would've been a better choice," she groused in a lighter tone.

"Unless it's in the form of a piece of cake today, then no thank you. It's Thanksgiving, and my babies are hungry. Let me enjoy myself."

Grandma nodded. "After all that puking you've done, you deserve a few cookies—probably some cake too."

"I still can't believe you left Angie's house without eating." Mom shook her head in dismay. "She must've been horribly offended."

I thought back to the confrontation with Paul. "Devastated is more like it, but not because we didn't eat. Paul ruined the meal for everyone."

"The poor woman," my mother tsked. "Imagine having two of your sons humiliate you like that. It's a good thing she and I are planning that wedding reception for you and Joseph. It'll give her something positive to think about."

"No! NO reception!" I argued. "We had a beautiful wedding in Barbados. Joe and I don't want or need anything more. Please Mom—Joe's had enough stress lately."

"Nonsense. It'll do _all _of you some good to have something positive to think about other than that nasty business with his brothers." I could tell by the set of her jaw she was going to be bullheaded over the whole thing.

Grandma tried to ease the tension.

"Good thing you told us Paul is scheming to see our girl," she noted. "We'll have to watch Jessie more closely." Her eyes narrowed determinedly. "Probably I should get my gun ready—"

"No!" my mother and I shouted at the same time.

"No guns!" Mom repeated, still holding her carving knife like a weapon.

Grandma merely grinned. She knew she'd effectively stopped any more talk about wedding receptions for the time being. _What would I ever do without my champion!_

Val walked in then, carrying my six-month old nephew Albie, a not-so-cute abbreviation for Albert Junior. The name suited him perfectly, however, as he was a not-so-cute baby. Round and rather doughy like his father; Albie had a downright enormous head and not a lick of hair on it. He also drooled a lot.

Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to me. _Omigod—what if MY babies were homely and drooled a lot? What if I looked at them and thought_ '_Ewww'! _But then I remembered who my husband was and breathed a sigh of relief. No friggin' way would Joe Morelli produce a homely child. _Hadn't I just been in a houseful of gorgeous Morelli children earlier that afternoon?_

"Sorry we're late," Val apologized. "The roads suck, and Albert drives like an old woman!"

"Don't say suck, Valerie," my mother corrected automatically, now scraping mashed potatoes into a bowl. "Especially in front of the baby." She made a kissy face at her grandson. "And how _is_ my little man?"

Val rolled her eyes. "Teething." She sniffed inelegantly. "Wait until you experience _that _particular joy, Steph."

"Don't tease your sister," Mom rebuked automatically.

Val made a face at me behind our mother's back. Shifting the baby onto her other hip, she asked, "So what was the big fuss before I came in. I heard yelling."

"Grandma wants to shoot Paul Morelli," I informed her perfunctorily.

"We _all _would after the danger he put you in!"

She moved closer, and my first fear was that she was going to try to hand me the baby, which wouldn't have been such a big deal except I was constantly worried that big head of his would snap right off his neck. I didn't need that kind of stress.

I shouldn't have worried though. She was more interested in examining my stomach, hoping to see some baby fat. I'd given Val an awful lot of grief over her weight gain with both Lisa and Albie. Payback was surely going to be a bitch over the next umpteen months.

"Look at you!" she nearly growled, noticing my still relatively flat stomach. "Three months pregnant—with twins no less—and not an ounce of excess fat to be found. You don't even really have a bump yet."

She saw the cookie in my hand and got even more upset. "_And_ you're eating cookies! I ate _one _cookie my entire pregnancy with Albie and gained ten pounds. Where's the justice in that?"

_Who was she kidding?_ My sister had eaten enough boxes of cookies to fund a small Girl Scout camp during her pregnancy.

But she was on a roll. "_And _you have the sexiest man in Trenton for a husband. This is _so _unfair!"

On cue, the back door opened and Joe walked in wearing his leather jacket over a pair of beige dress pants and a chocolate-colored button down. His dark curly hair, which hadn't been trimmed since before the wedding, was peppered with snowflakes, and his deep, Mediterranean skin was reddened from the wind.

Forget having turkey, my husband looked positively gobble-worthy.

"Sorry, I'm late," he apologized, stomping his feet on the mat in front of the door. "I swung by the house to let Bob out and ended up having to clear out our driveway and several others again. Three more inches since Noon."

He stopped talking when he realized four pairs of eyes were ogling him. It was hard not to—not with the way the fabric of his shirt tautened over the muscles in his chest as he removed his coat.

"I _so_ hate you," Val muttered to me out of one corner of her mouth.

"Damn," Grandma Mazur sighed, checking to see if she still had her false teeth intact. Her mouth had been open so long from staring, they could've easily dropped out and none of us would've noticed.

"I'll say," my mother echoed. She hadn't even bothered to chastise the curse word.

Joe looked around the room uncertainly. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, you _are _trouble," I jibed, amused by my family's antics.

"Helen!" my father hollered from the dining room.

The lust-fest came to an abrupt halt, and everyone was galvanized into action. Grabbing bowls and platters, we headed for the dining room. I stopped long enough to give Joe a brief kiss on the lips.

"Everything okay?" I asked, while searching his eyes for signs to the contrary.

He looked better than I'd seen him in days. The lines around his eyes had smoothed a bit, and his posture was more relaxed.

"I'll tell you about it later," he promised. Leaning in for another kiss, he took the food from my hands and nudged me toward the dining room with his elbow. "You get any rest today?"

"A two hour nap."

"Good. Food?"

"Uh-huh."

He sniffed my breath. "Anything besides cookies?"

"You promised—"

He cut me off with another kiss.

"Just checking."

"Stephanie!" my father bellowed.

We hustled into the dining room to find everyone already seated at the table. Albert was fussing with Lisa, who refused to sit in a high chair. Mary Alice was fiddling with the silverware, while Angie pretended to look bored and yet stared in utter fascination at Jessie.

Meanwhile, Jessie's eyes lit up at the sight of Joe.

"Where've you been?" Her face was a thundercloud of accusation.

"Hey, how's it going, Jessie?" he responded easily, paying no attention to her attitude. Taking the seat beside her, he gave her shoulders a quick one-armed squeeze before sweeping his gaze around the table to encompass the rest of my family. "Happy Thanksgiving, everyone."

My father grunted some sort of reply that signaled the beginning of the meal, and we all came to life.

Food was quickly passed, instant chatter began, and soon the room was filled with the excited, happy voices of both children and adults. Oddly enough, the mood was more subdued than usual. Even Grandma Mazur made an effort to avoid antagonizing my father. The whole atmosphere was bizarre, and after several minutes, it dawned on me as to why.

This meal was the polar opposite of the one Joe and I had experienced earlier in the day with the Morellis. While there were still plenty of people, noise and commotion, there wasn't the stress and the heartache.

_This _meal embodied the heart of Thanksgiving.

Joe leaned over and spoke low against my ear, like he had at so many other meals in my parent's house. "No indigestion here."

He'd meant it as a wisecrack, but I heard the regret in his voice. Naturally, he was feeling the same way as me. _How had I ever thought for a minute we weren't right for one another when we were so obviously a perfect fit?_

Seeing the sudden emotion welling in my eyes, Joe grew anxious and whispered, "I was just kidding, Cupcake. Everything's okay. Please don't cry."

"I know it is." I sniffed back tears. "I was just thinking how I can't imagine being in any other place or with any other person than you. I love you so much, Joe."

His brown eyes immediately darkened. Leaning in, he brushed my temple with his lips.

"Hold that thought," he rasped, "and tell it to me again later when we're alone."

"Hey, you two, no knicky-knack!" Grandma Mazur cackled loudly, giving us a knowing look from the down the table.

"At least not until we get home," Joe winked before turning back to his dinner.

My mother, who was completely sober now that she had to set a good example for Jessie, still looked positively sanguine from her seat at the foot of the table. Meeting my gaze, she smiled, and I realized she was feeling the same thing as me—that everything had come full circle, and her entire family was finally settled and happy.

"Steph, you want to go Black Friday shopping with me tomorrow morning?" Val interrupted my sappy ruminations. She was busy wiping Lisa's mouth with a napkin, while at the same time looking over her shoulder to make certain Albie was still secure in whatever contraption it was she had him strapped in.

Watching her, tendrils of uncertainty again wrapped around my self-confidence. _Would I be able to multitask that well with MY babies?_

"She can't go shopping," Jessie spoke up immediately. "She's taking me to Newark to get my bedroom stuff tomorrow."

My head swiveled toward Joe. "I am?"

He shrugged. "I forgot to tell you." Turning to Jessie, he continued, "It'll have to wait until Saturday or Sunday though. I have to work a double-shift tomorrow. Plus, Steph and I have a meeting to attend, _and _I have to find some sort of trailer for us to haul the furniture."

Jessie's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What kind of meeting?"

"I have a trailer," Albert piped up at the same time, overriding her question.

"You do?" My father actually lifted his head from his plate. I think he was intrigued to think that Albert would have anything as manly as a trailer.

"We do?" Val frowned. "Since when?"

"I keep it at my parent's house," he explained.

"What the hell would _you_ need a trailer for, Kloughn?" Dad wondered.

"I don't, but back before I married Val, some guy couldn't afford to pay me for his divorce. He offered me a trailer instead. It's completely enclosed and everything. You're welcome to borrow it."

"Uh—thanks," Joe acknowledged, sharing a bemused look with my father.

"What _kind _of meeting?" Jessie asked again. She was definitely assessing Joe's trustworthiness; probably worried the meeting was about her.

"We'll take you on Saturday or Sunday," Joe informed her firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Thank God, because there was no way I was telling my family about our meeting with Ranger. The last thing I needed was my mother giving me the fish eye so soon after such a nice meal.

"Well, now that we have _that _settled, you can go shopping with me," Val chirped happily.

Shopping with my sister actually sounded good—better than the wild night Connie and Lula had planned for me. But there was no way I could shop all day and handle my friends later—_plus _the meeting with Ranger.

"I'd better not," I begged off. "Connie and Lula are taking me to dinner tomorrow night. I won't have the energy if I shop."

Grandma's ears perked up. "You're going out with the girls?"

_Shit. Why hadn't I kept my mouth shut! _

Remembering my friends' request, I gritted my teeth. "Yeah. Want to join us?"

My mother snapped to life. "I'm not sure that's such a good—"

"You bet your sweet bippy I want to go," Grandma enthused. "Lula promised to teach me how to grind the next time she went dancing."

"Grind?" Mom repeated nervously. "What's that?"

"It's like humping," Jessie offered helpfully, trying to fit in and sounding proud she could offer something to the conversation. Evidently, she hadn't learned how my family operated yet.

"Humping!" Ma shrieked so loud it startled poor Albie, and the poor thing began to cry. "You mean like dogs?"

Jessie sat forward confidently. "Right. It's when you pretend you're—"

Joe covered her mouth with his hand.

"Mother of God!" my mother crossed herself. She sneaked a longing look toward the kitchen and her no longer used bottle of booze.

"You're going out with the girls?" Val whined, quickly picking up Ablie and shoving him onto Albert's lap in order to pay better attention. The little guy was screaming his lungs off, and I worried about his neck holding up under the stress. "I want to go! I haven't had a girls' night in ages."

_No—no—no! _I wanted _less _people—not more.

Beside me, Joe groaned, no doubt already thinking he should stock up on Maalox.

"It's really not that big of a deal," I rushed to say. "Just a little dinner to celebrate Mary Lou and I being out of the hospital."

"I want to go!" Val insisted.

God, she sounded about as old as Jessie, who was actively watching our sisterly exchange with undisguised interest.

"Fine—you can come too," I huffed. "But remember, it's _just _dinner."

"Keep telling yourself that, Cupcake," Joe muttered beneath his breath.

Scowling, I slumped in my seat.

_It WAS going to be just dinner. _I'd see to it.

* * *

Four hours later, I was ready to tell myself how stupid I'd been to eat whatever my little heart desired all day. Lying spread-eagle across the top of our bed in a TPD t-shirt and panties, I waited for Joe to return from taking Bob outside. I felt like Shamu on steroids—and probably appeared like him too.

Joe strode in looking completely disgusted. "Bob found the bag of leftovers."

That got my attention.

"What? How?" My voice was groggy from fatigue and a food hangover.

"The bag got left on the counter. He discovered it while I was outside putting salt on the walkway. By the way, it's finally stopped snowing."

"He ate _all _the leftovers?" _No turkey sandwiches? No pumpkin pie?__  
_

"The bag too."

_Omigod—turkey was horribly dangerous for dogs._

"Joe, the turkey bones!"

"Relax—your mom only sent back white meat," he said assuredly. "I'm thinking the worst of our worries is going to be when he horks everything up in the morning."

"Where is he?"

"Sacked out on the couch in a tryptophan coma—pretty much looking like you do right now."

I felt the overwhelming urge to check on our furry beast and tried to muster the energy to get up. "Are you _sure_ he's okay?"

"He's fine, Mama. Just full and sleepy."

That stopped me cold. Even though he was just teasing, sometimes I still couldn't believe I was actually going to be someone's Mama.

"Who _you_ calling, Mama?" I sassed, channeling my inner Lula.

Fifteen seconds later, clothes were shucked, and he crawled onto the bed beside me.

"You. You're my little Mama," he responded. Rubbing a possessive hand across my belly, he sounded positively predatory.

"Hunh. Does that make _you_ my big Daddy?"

Brown eyes glinting suggestively, he rolled on top of me. "Sure—in a minute part of me is going to get _real _big."

I slapped at his chest half-heartedly. "Is sex the only thing you think about?"

"Uh—yeah. You mean you're just figuring that out _now_? Jeez—where've you been the past three years?"

"Waiting for you to come to your senses and ask me to marry you," I retorted. "Good thing you finally did."

My sarcasm wasn't lost on him, and he rolled his eyes. "Whatever was I thinking waiting so long?"

"I don't know, but I'm yours now."

The mood completely altered from our light-hearted bantering.

"I know," he sighed contentedly. "And I'm yours."

Reaching up, I ran a hand through his hair. "Did you have fun tonight?"

Joe let out a long, slow breath and nodded. "It felt good to have a nice meal without the drama. Your family was in rare form tonight, Cupcake—downright mellow."

"Kind of freaky—wasn't it?"

The smirk was back. "No—freaky is little Albie's head."

A snort of laughter escaped before I could stop it.

"Omigod—stop! You can't say things like that about an innocent little baby! After all, the poor thing can't help it. Look who he has for a father."

"True," Joe pretended to ponder. "We should be thankful he doesn't squeal, 'hoo, hoo, hoo" when we tickle his tummy."

The picture of the Pillsbury Dough Boy immediately came to mind, and I struggled not to laugh even harder. But then I remembered my fear from earlier and quickly sobered.

"Hubby?"

"Huh?" He was already busy trying to lift my t-shirt and no longer paying attention.

"What if our babies are homely?"

Pausing on his treasure quest, he looked at me as if I were nuts. "_Our_ babies are going to be beautiful, Steph, and you know it. My God, look at their mother. She's gorgeous!"

"Well, their father is no slouch either. Just ask Jessie," I kidded.

Joe paused mid-caress. "What do you mean by _that_?"

"She has a little crush on you. Can't you tell?"

Immediately concerned, he shook his head in denial. "No, she doesn't. That's just gratitude."

"Maybe," I shrugged, "but she's definitely attached."

"Shit, you think I need to say something to her? We don't need any more trouble with that girl, Steph—not with Paul looking to cause enough of his own."

"I'm just teasing. You've done nothing wrong. You've never even been alone with her."

"It wouldn't be right—"

"See? Not many men would consider how it looks."

He continued to look worried. "Are you upset about the attention I'm giving her?"

"Hell no. I'm not _that _insecure. The girl has been through a lot. And even though she's with my parents, she still has a rough road ahead of her. Finding out your brother isn't who you thought he was can't be easy."

"It's not," Joe agreed quietly.

_Uh-oh. Way to go, Steph!_

"How did it go with Tony?" I asked, deciding to face the elephant in the room head on.

"Actually, I wasn't thinking about Tony just then. I was thinking about Paul. He was always so quiet and methodical by nature—never brash and in your face like Tony. He's a completely different person right now, and I don't get what's fueling his anger."

"Did you talk with Tony about it?"

"Yeah."

"And did he have any insight as to why Paul's suddenly being a complete jerk?"

"He thinks Paul's mad at him."

"Clarify mad."

"Like Tony sold out Paul or something."

_Huh?_

"Sold him out how?" I asked in a perplexed tone.

Joe rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "Tony's been talking to a priest—"

"Oh Lord."

"No, seriously. Some new chaplain—a younger guy. He's working with Samuelson to try and work it out that instead of going to jail for the FTA, he's allowed to go to rehab."

"Rehab! Tony?"

Joe shrugged. "I know. I was skeptical too at first, but I think he's serious about wanting to turn his life around."

"What exactly did you two talk about?" I wondered, completely mystified. I hadn't expected revelations of _this _sort when Joe had indicated he wanted to visit his oldest brother in the hospital.

Still looking up at the ceiling, he fell into the cop speak we both knew so well. He shared about how Tony had apologized over how he'd treated me; how he regretted not having trusted Joe to handle the mess with Meachum, and how he'd finally shared with my husband the ultimate truth of what had happened the night their father was killed.

Joe's eyes were pained as he rehashed the horror inside his mother's garage and especially when he relayed what Tony had shared with him about the hellish nightmare each of them had endured with Rocco too—especially Mary, Cathy and Joe's mother.

And Tony—who'd taken as much as he could in place of his siblings.

"Did he understand your anger about the secrecy?"

"Yes and no. He thinks I'm not trying hard enough to understand why they protected me." Joe made a face. "He's probably right."

I placed a hand on his chest. "Don't start feeling guilty—"

"I'm not. Believe me—I'm still really bitter. But at the same time, I feel like I'm finally able to look at things from more than just my perspective."

Again I was struck by how much had changed between the two of us in such a short amount of time. Even as recent as my return from Hawaii, I couldn't imagine us having had a conversation of this sensitive nature. The fact was we were no longer the same two people we'd been back in September. Honesty had changed us both, and the changes were both precious and terrifying.

But in all honesty, I still didn't know what to say to him half the time. His family and his past were so different from my own, and the things he was sharing—particularly about the girls—were making me sick to my stomach.

"How do you feel now?"

Joe turned on his side. Threading his fingers through mine, he brought our joined hands to his lips.

"The simple truth is that Rocco was a drunken, abusive pervert—a monster come to life. None of us can go back and fix the hell he caused."

"No, but maybe you could all move forward."

"That's what Tony wants."

"Do you really believe this sudden change of heart in him?" I asked skeptically, not sure that I did. I couldn't get the image of him assaulting me in our kitchen out of my head.

"I know it's hard to believe," Joe acknowledged, "but I think he really does want to turn his life around. Getting shot changed him, and I don't mean just physically. He's finally willing to see what his selfish actions have done to Angelina, the kids, and the rest of us. Better yet, he's beginning to understand how the past has played a large role in his poor choices."

"Do you believe he loves Angelina?"

"I never thought he didn't. He's been a lousy husband to her, but he's always loved her and the children."

"So why does he think Paul feels betrayed?"

"Because Paul has spent his entire life following Tony, and now Tony claims he wants to change." Joe cleared his throat embarrassedly. "He said he wants to become more like me."

"A worthy goal." _Was it possible Tony really was sincere?_

"Well, I'm not so sure about that, but I can only imagine how much it burns Paul's ass knowing his best friend is suddenly looking to me for anything."

"Maybe Paul could get help too—"

Joe snorted. "Paul's not thinking about anyone but himself right now. He doesn't want to hear about change. He wants nothing but retribution for what he feels has been taken away from him—his job, his best friend, his pride after having been made a fool of by Stampler and Meachum. Shall I go on?"

"No," I replied softly. "That's enough."

"Besides, it wouldn't matter if he _did_ want to change. I'm not even sure Tony will be able to get into rehab—let alone Paul."

"You think the judge won't go for it?"

"Who knows about the judge. I'm talking price. The treatment facility they're looking at for Tony costs fifty-three grand a stay."

My mouth dropped open. "You're joking."

"I wish. Tony has no insurance, so we're talking straight out of pocket."

"Holy shit!"

"Exactly."

"There have to be other facilities."

"I'm sure there are, but according to Tony's doctors, this one is the most successful in the area."

"How will he—?"

"I don't know," Joe interrupted roughly, sensing my question. "But I have a feeling Ma is going to offer to put a mortgage on her house again in order to help him. I need to talk to her."

Neither of us voiced what we were both thinking. Joe had enough money sitting in the bank right then, collecting interest for our children's college education, to more than help Tony.

Sensing where the conversation was going, Joe hastily said, "We can't solve this tonight, so let's just forget about it."

"I'm not sure I can," I answered faintly. "This is huge, Joe."

He looked away uncomfortably. "I know."

A strained silence fell between us for several minutes, until Joe finally broke it.

"What time does Ranger want to meet tomorrow?"

_Oh God—would the stress ever end?_

"I haven't heard from him today."

"Typical," he grunted.

"I haven't checked my phone though either since we've been home. Let me take a look."

Reaching over to where it lay on the nightstand, I saw the text immediately.

_Change of Plans. Will contact to reschedule. Happy Thanksgiving._

Rolling my eyes at Ranger's typical brevity, I flopped back onto the pillows.

"Change of plans."

Joe lifted an eyebrow hopefully. "He doesn't want to buy out Vinnie?"

"He didn't say exactly."

I read him the text, and he studied my face.

"What do you think?" he questioned.

"My guess is he got delayed flying back from Miami."

The thought made me sad. I hated to think of Ranger stuck in an airport on one of the best holidays of the year.

Joe read my mind. "I'm sure he's fine, Cupcake."

"I know. I just don't like the idea of him being alone."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_What the hell did it take for a person to be alone any more?_

Ever since Stephanie's accusation that I closed myself off from people, God had been playing a cruel joke on me by suddenly filling my life with more people than I either wanted or needed. There was something to be said for solitude, and right then it would've said, 'Carlos, go to bed'. The only reprieve I'd been granted since arriving at the Sullivan mansion had been a quick trip to the bathroom where I'd hastily sent Stephanie a text to cancel our meeting for the following day.

Cancelling had been the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted answers from the Morellis as to whether they were in or out on my plan to buy the bonds agency. I'd committed to driving the general's daughter back to Trenton, however, and I needed to follow through with my offer, even though the thought of spending five hours in close quarters with her was more than a little unsettling.

I was bone tired. It was going on Midnight, and Hawk showed no signs of stopping. He was too busy regaling Cheryl and Chip about several of the missions he and I had worked on over the years. Thankfully everyone else had left hours ago. Even Mrs. Sullivan had called it a night at eleven o'clock after informing Cheryl to show me to my room when I was ready.

Well, I was _more _than ready, but I didn't want to appear rude—not after the general had been kind enough to invite me into his home.

Cheryl and her kid brother appeared to be just like their father. Both were wide-eyed and curious about the dangerous missions Hawk and I had managed over the years. Of course, they were getting the watered down version, and they knew it. But that didn't stop Chip from looking at me with some sort of hero worship. He reminded me of Lula in that regard—only he was a hell of a lot thinner and _way _more respectful.

His sister, on the other hand, was a true enigma to me. She'd changed into form fitting jeans and an Air Force sweater after everyone had left and was now sitting cross-legged on the couch beside Chip, elbows on her knees, chin in the palms of her hand, and listening to her father spin his tales. I could almost hear her brain at work, sifting through fact versus hyperbole. Her uniquely golden eyes frequently met mine—sometimes in quiet assessment, sometimes in direct challenge, but most often in amusement. Trouble was I couldn't determine if her amusement was directed at the stories—or me, and the latter wasn't sitting too well.

Either way she looked damned amazing in those jeans. My fingers itched to cup her backside, and as a result, my own pants were getting pretty damned uncomfortable.

Cheryl happened to catch me shifting in my chair and took pity on me.

"Daddy, we've monopolized Carlos' time long enough," she chastised softly. "It's after Midnight. We should all go to bed."

Against my will, my heart did a curious flip. It was the first time she'd said my name since that bizarre night at The Pokey. Stephanie had never called me Carlos. Only Tank and my family typically did, and it felt strange to hear the word coming from a woman's lips.

A very beautiful woman's lips.

Hawk glanced at his watch. "I'm sorry! I had no idea it was getting so late. Of course you must be exhausted, Carlos, but I can't tell you how pleased I am you joined us today _and _agreed to spend the night. Knowing you're driving back with Lynnie tomorrow is a huge relief to me."

I shared a look with Chip, who flushed in embarrassment.

We all stood.

"It's a pleasure—all the way around, sir."

"Cherylyn, will you show Carlos to his room please?"

His daughter gave me a little wink. "Certainly, Dad. I put out fresh hay just for the occasion."

Hawk blanched. "Lynnie—"

"I'm just teasing," she laughed. "Come on, Grunt."

Just then Mrs. Sullivan stormed into the room, a silk robe billowing behind her and a sleep mask shoved on top of her head. She had a cell phone in her hand.

"Cherylyn, will you _please _answer this thing already? It's been ringing off and on in your bedroom for the past hour!"

Cheryl looked chagrined. "I'm sorry, Mother. I had no idea it was even on."

"Who in the world would be trying to contact you at Midnight?" Hawk cried in outrage.

"Probably a client," Chip shrugged.

"Well, I could hear it ringing clear down the end of the hallway in our room," Barbara continued to huff.

She slapped the phone in her daughter's outstretched hand and crossed her arms indignantly across her chest, while Cheryl self-consciously pushed the talk button and raised the phone to her ear. No sooner did she do so, than her face lost all color.

"Cheryl!" Chip grabbed his sister by the waist, fearful she might faint.

I immediately stepped forward, demanding, "Who is it?"

She moved to disconnect. "It's nothing," she whispered.

_To hell with that!_

Grabbing the phone before she could succeed in turning it off, I pressed the phone to my ear, half-expecting to hear the Latin tones of this mysterious Javier dude. Instead I was met with the automated voice of a machine.

"Do you hear me, Cheryl?" the voice said without inflection. "You've put me off long enough. You're breaking my heart. Well, guess what, bitch? You're about to see what a broken heart _really _looks like. Be ready. I'm coming for you."

_What the hell?_

"Who is this?" I commanded sharply, my heart in my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cheryl now slumped in a chair with her head between her knees, her family gathered around her.

"What's going on?" Hawk asked sharply. "Manoso, report!"

There was a sharp click, followed by an immediate dial tone. Looking at the caller ID, it simply read 'unknown'. I turned it off and flung it onto the sofa. Undeniable anger surged through me—both at the caller _and _Cheryl."

"Manoso, _who _was it?" the general repeated impatiently.

Ignoring him, I squatted down in front of his daughter. She unburied her face from her hands and looked up at me, fear and embarrassment both evident in her face.

My eyes met hers in a steely gaze, although my words were softly spoken, as I asked, "You ready _now_ to tell me what the fuck is going on, Zoomie?"


	7. Chapter 7

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Well, we're firmly entrenched in the 'it's going to take me longer to pump these chapters out' timeframe. Bummer!

But...here we go anyway.

Thanks for the super feedback after the last chapter. I appreciate every bit of it.

Special thanks to my two girls, Julie and Kim, for once again providing me with oodles of support. They keep me going on the days when I think I'll never find the time to write again. Love you both!

* * *

Chapter Seven

**Ranger's POV**

The knock at the guest bedroom door came early—six fifteen. Not that it mattered. I'd never gone to bed in the first place.

Looking up from Tank's latest text, I called out, "It's open."

Chip walked in looking haggard. Like me, he was still wearing his clothes from the previous day. Evidently, he hadn't slept either. It'd be a wonder if any of us had.

He had a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt and a small toiletry kit in hand. Dropping them on the foot of the bed beside me, he declared in a voice made gravelly from too much coffee and not enough sleep, "Thought you might like a set of clean clothes for the trip today."

My eyebrow immediately cocked. "If you think I'm putting on an Air Force sweatshirt, you've lost your mind, kid."

"Shit," he sneered good-naturedly. "Think I'd desecrate anything Air Force on a Gun Bunny?"

Upon closer examination, I could see the sweatshirt was utilitarian.

"Thanks," I acknowledged gruffly and then turned to the business at hand. "Your sister awake?"

He shook his head. "Dad and I finally got her to go up to her room around three." His voice took on an edge. "I was surprised you left when you did. We could've used your help downstairs."

I didn't miss his censure, but shrugged it off. "Your father was using his contacts to gain access with the cell phone company. I was trying mine."

His eyes narrowed speculatively. "What the hell kinds of contacts would you have? What is it you do in Trenton anyway?"

"Security for one."

If he was surprised, he hid it well. The kid was damned impressive in that regard. He'd make a hell of a soldier once he graduated, and in response, I found myself revealing more than I'd planned.

"I came back up here last night once your sister finally wised up and gave us her phone, along with what she knows about Javier Sanchez." My eyes rolled. "What she was willing to share anyway."

"I told you yesterday she's tough. She's a stickler for patient/client confidentiality."

"You know as well as I do that stuff's bullshit if her life is in danger."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I didn't say I don't agree with you. But this is classic Cheryl. She doesn't like being handled—by anyone."

"Regardless, I was on the phone all night working with my team back home to try and trace the call."

He took a seat on the bed uninvited. "And?"

"We got nowhere with the cell phone. Of course it was a prepaid wireless. We were hoping to at least find the GPS ping for the call, but nothing. They're still digging into Sanchez."

"Dad too," Chip admitted. "He's using his military connections to try and go deeper with the phone, but there doesn't seem to be anywhere to go. It's like the call came out of thin air."

"And Sanchez?"

He looked me in the eye and answered cryptically. "My father wants to talk with you in his office."

_Great._

"Give me ten minutes to shower, and I'll be down. While I'm doing that, see if you can rouse your sister. I'd like to get on the road as soon as possible. I just checked, and they've opened one lane on the expressway. As soon as the sun comes up, I want to move."

"It's still snowing you know."

"That may be, but it's going to take us twice as long in that piece of shit of hers. And I need to get back to Trenton as soon as possible."

"Dad's going to try and force her to take her Navigator."

"As in GPS?"

"As in Lincoln."

"She has a friggin' SUV?" I exploded. "Why the hell doesn't she drive it then?"

Chip smirked. "I told you; she's stubborn. Dad bought it for her when he found out she was moving to Trenton, but she refused to take it."

"That's asinine! Why?"

"Because he never bought a vehicle for the rest of us. She doesn't want special treatment just because she's the only girl."

"Well, we're taking it today," I announced flatly.

The smirk curved into a full-fledged grin. "Yeah. Good luck convincing her of that."

He left, and I resisted the urge to punch something. _What the hell was she thinking driving around in that death heap of hers when she had a safe and sturdy vehicle at her disposal? _The woman made me crazy. I seriously wasn't sure whether I could take five hours with her in such a confined space.

_Not if she looked and smelled as good as she had the night before._

Telling my subconscious to shut the fuck up, I returned to Tank's message and responded:

_Leaving at sunrise. Will keep you apprised of my arrival._

Thirty seconds later he shot back:

_We'll keep digging into Sanchez on our end. Try to enjoy the ride. If you allow yourself, you just might be surprised._

Scowling, I tossed the phone on the bed. I wouldn't even dignify his meddling with a reply. That's all I needed was to have my best friend breathing down my neck over this deal with Cheryl. God knows he'd already been picking at me enough over her. The man was bound and determined to pull me out of the funk I'd been in over Stephanie, and his attempts at matchmaking were about as welcome as that of Althea and Vera Sue yesterday on the plane.

I'd fulfill the commitment I made to Chip Sullivan by seeing his sister safely back to Trenton. Perhaps I'd even casually mention to Morelli that his shrink had a pycho after her. But that was it. I had no ties to this woman. If anything, I needed to get away from her, and the mysterious—and very unwelcome—pull she had over my starving libido.

_Shit. E_ven _I_ could hear myself protesting a bit too much. But damn it, I didn't _want _another complication in my life, and my gut told me Cheryl Sullivan was nothing _but _complication.

True to my word, ten minutes later I did a one-knuckle rap on the general's open office door. He was alone at his desk.

Looking up, he nodded. "Come in, Carlos. Shut the door."

A wave of unease swept through me before I willed it away.

"Have a seat," he offered. Gesturing toward a mini Keurig on his desk, he asked. "Coffee?"

I would've loved to refuse him, but the truth was I'd need the energy boost to keep my wits about me after having had no sleep the night before.

"Thanks. Black."

He busied himself with the machine. "What'd you find out last night from your people?"

"Sir?"

_Jeez_—_had the kid already told his father about our conversation?_

Hawk met my gaze squarely. "Let me cut to the chase, Manoso. I'm military; you're military—"

"Former military"

"Former military," he acknowledged with a slight nod. "But we both know there is no former about it. We also both know that Washington talks—a lot, and it doesn't matter which branch of the service you're in, if you're good, they keep tabs on you."

My blood began to pump a little harder. "You've been keeping tabs on me?"

"More like I've been curious about you. Our paths have crossed frequently enough over the years that—"

"It's been _five_ years, general."

"Nevertheless, I was curious when you dropped off the radar screen not too long ago. And I'll admit my curiosity was perhaps a bit higher due to the well-known animosity between you and Mac Colburn and given his former association with my daughter. I've often tried to get Stephen to tell me what happened between you men, but he refuses to talk."

I merely stared at him.

He let out a course laugh. "This isn't an interrogation, Ranger. Relax."

_It damned well felt like one._

"My curiosity led me to learn about your business in Trenton, or partial business I guess I should say. You have partners, correct?"

"Investors."

"In a security firm?"

"That's right." _What the hell did he want? _I'd always had respect for Hawk, but I didn't like all this cloak and dagger shit.

"From my research, it appears that some of those alliances might not all be legitimate."

"Appearances can be deceiving. I run a clean business." And that was true—for the most part.

"I hope so, as I'm in need of a security expert, Carlos."

Suddenly I knew where this conversation was headed, and I didn't like it one bit.

"I don't think my company is a good fit for what you need—"

"How do you know when I haven't said yet what it is I need?"

_Crap! _"I don't, but I'm assuming it has something to do with your daughter."

"Correct. My _only _daughter."

"She needs to be talking to the police," I stated the obvious. "She needs a restraining order and—"

"May I speak?" Hawk looked amused at what he probably considered insubordination.

I let out my breath in a slow, barely detectable hiss. "Go on."

"Thank you. I agree that Cheryl needs to speak with the police. I've given her twenty-four hours to do so, otherwise I'll step in on her behalf."

"I bet that order went over well," I muttered under my breath, thinking of the feisty psychiatrist's obsessive need for control—one I recognized all too well.

Half-expecting a rebuke, I was surprised when Hawk chuckled. "It appears you know more about Lynnie than you've let on," he noted dryly, but then his expression grew serious. "Which plays perfectly into what I want."

"Which is?"

"For you to personally take over the security detail for my daughter."

No.

No—NO—and _**NO**_.

"I don't think—"

"I don't care what you think, Manoso," he said, his voice going frosty on me in an attempt to flex his authority. "You and I both know you don't bother doing something unless you can be the best at it, and from what I've researched you're fast developing one of the best security firms on the east coast—down south too."

"I am the best," I agreed without a trace of humility. "But that doesn't mean I'm the best for what you need."

"It's obvious Lynnie trusts you."

I nearly snorted. "She barely _knows _me."

"Still, I saw the way she responded to you last night. You were the one who convinced her to tell us the little she did about Javier Sanchez." He paused and looked down at his desk. "I've had some of my people looking into Sanchez, and I'm sure you've been doing the same."

"Yes."

_Why lie?_

"Have they discovered his connections to the Abu Sayyaf Group (ASG) yet?" he asked, naming the extreme militant Islamist separatist group based in and around the southern Philippines.

My blood went cold. "No, they haven't."

Hawk leaned back in his chair nonchalantly, but the hand swiping across his mouth trembled slightly. The man was nervous.

"What's the connection?" I asked.

"Javier's father was once under the command of Abdurajik Abubakar Janjalani." He named one of the most ruthless men in history as if he were announcing last night's hockey score.

"Shit."

"Agreed. Now there's no solid evidence of Sanchez following in his father's footsteps, but the link is there. The fact that I spent a good portion of my time over there during the Janjalani era has me concerned. The ASG is well aware of what my men did to thwart their efforts on more than one occasion."

"You think Sanchez might be gunning for Cheryl as a means to get back at you? Come on, Hawk—that was friggin' twenty years ago!"

"Revenge knows no timetable."

Truer words had never been spoken. Even I had spent some time in the Philippines fighting the ASG right after becoming an Army Ranger as part of the Operation Enduring Freedom. I knew full well the terrorist group's capabilities.

"If what you suspect is true, your daughter needs to be in a government safe house. This is _way _beyond what I handle, general—"

"But I don't _know _anything," he reminded me calmly. "It's merely one thing that my contacts have pulled up that caught my eye. For all I know Sanchez is simply some nut job off the street, who came to the U.S. as a businessman and ended up making a poor choice when he assaulted his landlady with a knife."

"That's not a poor choice; it's attempted murder," I pointed out grimly. The more I learned about this guy, the more concerned I was about Cheryl's safety.

_Damn it._

Hawk sensed my changing attitude and upped the stakes. "I'm being more cautious than anything else," he offered smoothly, reeling me in like a big, fat Grouper. "And part of that caution includes having someone with military smarts _and _street savvy to protect my daughter."

"What about Colburn? He has electronics experience. He could probably—"

"Don't waste my time with foolish talk," Hawk cut in impatiently, his underlying fear clearly evident. "You saw Cheryl yesterday. For whatever reason she's downright fearful of Macon. I can't for the life of me understand why, but until I do know, I have to respect that she is. Protection won't do her any good if she's continuously running from the protector."

_Like she wouldn't run screaming into the wind if she thought I was protecting her?_

His eyes bored into mine. "I'm not certain I trust Mac. There has to be a reason why Cheryl is avoiding him. Do you know what it is?"

"No."

"Damn that girl!" he grunted in frustration, slapping the palm of his hand on top of the desk. "Why does she have to be so stubborn all the time?"

"What about one of your sons?" I pressed, grasping at straws.

Hawk sensed my reluctance and pushed even harder.

"No. I want _you, _Manoso. Not Mac, not my sons, not someone else from the military—you. You're the only one I trust with my daughter's life."

"Hawk, listen," I hedged, feeling an unwelcome anxiety building in me. Goddamn it—I did _not _want to enmesh myself in these people's lives! "I'm sincerely flattered you would think me capable, but—"

"Name your price."

My pride flared. "It has nothing to do with price!"

"Bullshit! You forget I know you, Manoso. I know your past. You're a mercenary through and through. I've tried appealing to your sense of honor, and that hasn't worked. Now I'm appealing to that wallet in your pocket. How much?"

I shook my head. "I can't—"

"You will! How much? A hundred thousand? Two?"

_Fuck! _This was crazy. I had no desire to try and keep track of Cheryl Sullivan. The woman may be beautiful, but she was also headstrong and foolish. There was no telling what she'd do to thwart my efforts to protect her.

_But the money—_

Hawk mistook my silence as a bargaining tool.

"_Five hundred thousand dollars_," he stated boldly, daring me to refuse. "And don't tell me you couldn't put that chunk of change to good use. Maybe buy out one of those investors of yours. Maybe two."

_Or use it to get the bonds agency going if the Morellis agreed to my vision._

"What would you tell Cheryl?" I stalled again, yet we both knew I was caving.

"The truth. She needs to understand her life is very much in danger, particularly since we really don't know who's behind these phone calls. We haven't even taken into consideration it could be someone else. Just because Sanchez was recently in prison for assault doesn't mean a damn thing in a court of law. This asshole stalker could be anywhere!"

He was right, and it was time for me to step up and do the right thing by offering my expertise to protect Cheryl. Of course I wasn't a fool either. That protection would come with a hefty price.

"Five hundred thousand," I agreed, reaching over the desk to seal the deal with my hand.

Hawk looked visibly relieved, slumping tiredly in his chair.

"Thank you, Carlos."

"Don't thank me yet. You still need to convince your daughter that this whole set-up is in her best interest, and from the little I've seen of her, that's going to be a tough sell."

His eyes held a fatherly gleam. "You leave Lynnie to me."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"Steph."

"Hnnnnhn?" I mumbled from the depths of sleep.

A hand ran down the length of my side.

"Just wanted you to know I'm heading out."

Lips brushed against my forehead.

With great effort, I managed to lift one eye. It was still dark outside, and Joe was seated next to me on the bed, his face mere inches from my own. His words finally penetrated my foggy brain.

"You're leaving? Now?" The other eye popped open. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven. I got to get moving."

Forcing myself awake, I squinted up at him. "What time will you be home?"

"By the time I finish the paperwork from second shift, probably not until after Midnight." He sounded disappointed. "I just wanted to tell you to have fun tonight."

"Gee, thanks."

_Was fun even a possibility with the motley group I'd somehow assembled?_ Which reminded me—I still needed to contact Mary Lou about the plan.

Joe looked at me warily, "Cupcake—"

I nearly rolled my eyes at his transparency.

"I'll try to stay out of trouble," I assured him dryly.

He let out a snort. "Right—and I'll try to become celibate. Both of those statements are equally improbable. How about just try to keep in mind you were in a hospital bed three days ago."

"I haven't forgotten."

"Then I'll stop worrying."

_Sure he would._

Dropping a kiss on my lips, he stood to leave. "Get some rest."

"I will. You have a fun day too, hubby," I joked around a yawn.

He grimaced over the nickname as well as the realization no day was fun when you were a vice and homicide detective.

"Oh, I'm sure my day will be a real laugh riot," he agreed sarcastically. Heading for the door, he added, "It's still snowing, so be careful on the roads tonight."

"Okay. Love you," I slurred, already half asleep again.

"Love you too," he promised.

Given what was to happen later that night, it was a darn good thing he did.

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

"No."

Standing in the library of my parent's home, my voice was firm and unyielding as I stared down my father. It felt more like I was facing an executioner than a family member, for being under the protection of Carlos Manoso twenty-four/seven would certainly be the death of me.

"It's for your protection," Dad insisted, sounding equally as obstinate.

Beside me, my mother fairly vibrated with annoyance.

"Cherylyn's right," she said in a dismissive tone I knew only too well. "It's absurd to think of hiring a stranger to protect our daughter when we know any number of other capable people. We've raised _seven _soldiers for God's sake!"

Slouched in the corner of the couch, still wearing his rumpled clothing from the day before, Chip rolled his eyes. "Aren't you forgetting one?"

"No," she answered shortly. "Your place is in Colorado finishing up school—not running around trying to determine who's harassing your sister."

"Exactly!" Dad agreed, "And our other seven sons have responsibilities as well—both to their careers and their families. More importantly, none of them have the exact skill set for this kind of job."

"And this Manoso does?" she scoffed.

"Yes."

The finality of his one word answer spoke volumes.

"In addition to having the skills, Manoso has an entire team of men to run his business. He doesn't have a family counting on him at the end of the day. He'll be able to devote his entire attention to protecting Cheryl."

"But we know _nothing_ of this man's character."

My father bristled. "You're wrong. _I_ know his character. Without a doubt he's the best person for the job."

Chip couldn't resist adding his two cents. "I agree. The more I talk to the guy, the more I like him."

My mother was one of a very few people willing to go up against Hawk Sullivan. Ignoring Chip, her face wore an ugly expression as she faced her husband.

"_You _know, Cliff? Why then, that's all that matters, isn't it?" she derided. "Why concern your _wife_ with something as critical to our daughter's wellbeing when _you _know?"

Dad let out a frustrated breath. "Barbie, don't do this—"

"_You_ say Manoso is skilled," she continued to mock. "Well, _I _say Macon Colburn is equally as skilled, if not more so. I trust _him._"

"I didn't ask our boys. I didn't ask Macon. I asked _Manoso_." Dad's tone went from tolerant to steely. He hated having his authority challenged.

"And _I _didn't ask anyone to get involved," I pointed out recklessly.

"Which was a pretty stupid move on your part, considering you're a psychiatrist and all," Chip observed in typical blunt fashion.

He was wrong_. _My stupidity was having allowed that ridiculous phone call from the night before to rattle me—in front of Ranger no less. Now because of my histrionics, no one believed me capable of handling the situation on my own. And having grown up in a military family with eight protective brothers, _nothing _was more important to me than showing self-sufficiency—especially after what had happened with Mac eight years ago.

It was time for me to assert myself.

"Dad, I may not have come across as tough, but I can assure you I'm not some kind of damsel in distress. I'm a trained soldier with an expertise in martial arts not normally seen in the Air Force. Trust me, I have no trouble defending myself when necessary and already have on more than one occasion."

"This is different," he objected, his jaw squarely set. "From the little you've deigned to give us, we have no concrete proof the person behind these calls is Javier Sanchez. For all we know, some other lunatic client of yours is stalking you. If you'd just tell us—"

My already ramrod spine straightened even further.

"I'm _not _revealing privileged information about my clients," I said staunchly. "I need for them to trust me."

"Do you need for them to kill you too?" he shot back angrily.

Hawk Sullivan's legendary control was slipping, and I felt a fleeting pang of guilt. It didn't matter how I saw myself. In his mind, he was only looking out for his little girl.

Hoping to use that angle to my advantage, I stepped closer and put my hand on his arm.

"Daddy," I began in my calm, professional manner. "Chip's right about one thing. I am a licensed psychiatrist—an expert at listening and reading people. I'm paid to know how the mind works. You need to trust that I can handle myself _and _the people for whom I provide care."

He reached out to stroke my cheek, regret written all over his face. "But honey, what if this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me."

That caught my attention—fast—and Mother's too.

"What're you saying, Cliff?" she demanded, scowling up at my father. "You're involved too—but how? You've practically retired."

"My contacts in Washington have informed me Sanchez's father was deeply entrenched in the ASG under Janjalani," he confessed, avoiding my mother's condemnation. She'd lived forty years in fear of something happening to her husband or one of her children as a result of my father's career in the military.

"He and I went up against one another several times in my career."

Mother was no dumbbell. "Quit beating around the bush. Spit it out!"

Ignoring her, he gave me a look that spoke volumes. "I may or may not have been involved with the assassination of Sanchez's father."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I almost laughed in his face. How ironic he was consciously choosing not to provide me with full disclosure of his actions due to military secrecy, and yet he was unwilling to respect the _same_ rules of my profession.

"Oh Cliff!" my mother breathed in horror, putting her hand over her mouth.

Chip continued to sit impassively on the couch. No doubt he'd been with Dad when the information came in from the military. I wasn't sure how I felt knowing my kid brother seemed equally intent on seeing me saddled with a bodyguard. We'd never in our lives been at cross-purposes with one another.

He jerked a head toward our parents before nailing me with a look that seemed to say, 'do you see what your stubbornness is doing to our family'?

My gaze shifted uneasily from his to my father's.

"You think Javier is after me out of revenge?" The idea was almost surreal, completely out of the realm of what I'd been imagining the past two weeks.

"It's one theory I'm exploring—yes," he admitted, "but I hate to be so narrowly focused. As I said, there could be any number of people who wish to cause you harm." His eyes pled for me to understand the frustration and fear he was experiencing. "Truth is, we don't know what we're up against, and that scares the hell out of me!"

My mother quickly recovered her composure and contemptuous attitude.

"All the more reason why we should be talking to Macon instead of wasting time with Manoso. Cherylyn's life is in serious danger! Macon would die before he'd allow anything to happen to her."

Showing uncharacteristic disrespect, Chip shot up off the couch and got in her face. "Mac Colburn is an ass, Mother. When are you going to wake up and accept the fact Cheryl wants nothing to do with him?"

"Never!" she retorted, angry enough to disregard his impertinence. "Those two are meant for one another."

Dad's eyes remained locked with mine.

"Would you rather I call Macon, Lynnie?" he asked in a quiet undertone. "I'll do it if it's what you want."

_Shit, caught between the devil and Satan. _

Having _anyone _invade my life, no matter the good of the cause, made me furious. My intense need for independence was being severely compromised. But one look at my father's face, and I knew he'd arrange for protection with or without my consent. The question was did I want to be a part of the process or have it secretly performed behind my back.

At least with Ranger, I'd have some element of control over the situation. From the little I knew of him, he seemed trustworthy and capable. He certainly had shown amazing ability when we searched for Stephanie in that swamp. She'd apparently trusted him too, seeing as they'd been involved sexually at one time. And while Joe may not like him, he'd never masked his appreciation of Ranger's skills.

Mac, on the other hand, was straight up dangerous. I couldn't let him get too close to me, having seen with my own eyes what he was capable of doing to a woman.

Realizing I didn't want to cause my family any more unnecessary worry, I said simply, "Manoso."

"Cherylyn, no!" my mother protested, shooting Dad an exasperated look. "What will Macon think—?"

"Barbie, enough!" Dad held up his hand to stop her from commenting further. "Cheryl's made her decision—one I fully support. And I don't want to hear another word about this."

He pushed a button next to him on the desk. "George, send in Mr. Manoso."

"Smart move, sis. I'm proud of you," Chip grinned, as the door opened almost immediately behind me.

I paid no attention to his praise or the fact that Ranger was now standing ten feet behind me. My eyes were still zeroed in on my father's.

"How much?"

A muscle jumped near Dad's temple. He knew exactly what I was asking, and my frustration only increased at his next words.

"How much what?"

"Don't play games," I snapped. "How much did you offer him?"

"What makes you think—?"

"I'm not a friggin' idiot!" I cried in a voice unworthy of a professional counselor. Well aware of Ranger's presence, I seethed, "I know how these things work. Ranger isn't going to do this out of the goodness of his heart—if he even has one. And if I'm going to live in misery for the unforeseeable future, I deserve to know what I'm worth."

"Don't you know you're priceless to me?" Dad countered, trying to lighten the moment with a smile.

"How. Much?" I pressed. My teeth practically ground out the words.

"Five hundred thousand," Ranger interjected unflinchingly.

_What! _Spinning around, my mouth dropped open at his straightforward, almost detached demeanor. _What kind of man would be willing to—?_

Chip hastily intervened. "It was _my _idea—not Dad's to purchase his services. I thought we could use his military experience and the fact he was from Trenton to our advantage. It was Dad who knew about his work in security."

_Five Hundred Thousand_

"Charles Sullivan!" my mother raged. "You do not have a say in _any _of this!"

"Bullshit!" he responded heatedly, surprising me again with his assertiveness toward our mother. "Lynnie's not only my sister but my best friend in the world. I refuse to go back to Colorado knowing she's in danger, unless I trust the person looking out for her. And I trust Manoso—even more now that I know he specializes in this kind of work."

"I don't care if he runs secret service for the president. We don't _know _this man!"

Their voices were nothing but a buzz in my ear. Turning, I gawked at my father. "Five hundred _thousand_ dollars?"

"Yes," he confirmed unashamedly.

"That's outrageous!" my mother gasped. "You're nothing but a thief, Manoso!"

"On the contrary, Mrs. Sullivan—I'm a businessman," Ranger's silky smooth voice responded evenly. "Your husband wants the best protection for your daughter. I am the best."

I was completely staggered by my father's actions—and oddly hurt by Ranger's, although I had no idea why.

"Mother's right," I whispered, mortified to think they'd bartered over me. "You're a fool, Daddy. It's not worth it—"

"You're wrong," he interrupted vehemently, pulling me tightly against his chest, while Chip nodded in agreement.

My father rasped against my ear. "What I said before is true. There's no price too high when it comes to you, my sweet Lynnie."

Pulling out of his embrace, my eyes blazed with resentment as I turned once more toward Ranger.

"Clifford, I want you to put an end to this nonsense—now," Mother demanded shrilly. "Cherylyn is _not _leaving with this man. He's a mercenary!"

An unidentifiable emotion flashed in Ranger's eyes before his mask was firmly back in place.

"I'm a businessman," he repeated coolly. "You may not know me, but I can promise you this, Mrs. Sullivan." His gaze was heated as he stared at me from across the room. "_Nothing _will happen to your daughter while she's on my watch. You have my word."

An involuntary shiver ran down my spine at his hardened resolve. _My God, what was I in for with this man? _

Seemingly sensing my concern, one corner of his mouth twitched.

"Better pack your bag, Zoomie. We leave within the hour."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Morelli, Rogers is on three for you," Cassandra Savage, secretary for the vice and homicide unit, pounced as I walked into the bullpen shortly after seven.

_Great._

What a way to start the day.

Stopping in my tracks, I called back, "Tell him—"

"He said if you tried to blow him off again, he'd personally come down and feed your nuts to the vending machine," Cassie interrupted in her thick Jersey voice, rolling her eyes. "Come on, Morelli—the guy is relentless. Just take his call already, will'ya?"

I shut the door to my office, such as it was without a ceiling, and picked up the phone before plopping into my chair. I hadn't even bothered to remove my coat yet.

"Morelli."

"It's about goddamned time. I was about ready to send out a search party for you. You're avoiding me."

"I've been busy."

"Bullshit. Get up here so we can clear the air once and for all. Maybe then we can both get some real work done."

"As I said, I'm plenty busy, and I seem to be doing just fine right here, thanks."

"I'm not playing games, Joe. Now."

I let out sigh of resignation. "Five minutes. I need coffee first." I'd need the caffeine if I had to face yet another unfinished link from my past.

"Two. I've got coffee up here." He hung up before I could respond.

Shrugging out of my coat, I took a quick glance at the stack of waiting reports on my desk. I was just getting ready to leave when there was a knock at the door.

"Enter and talk fast. I've been summoned," I called out.

It was Darryl "Stumpy" Davis. "The ME's report on Candy Netz just arrived."

That got my attention. The young stripper hadn't been far from my thoughts despite all the events from the previous day.

"Did Haney do it himself or one of his underlings?" I asked, referring to Morris Haney, Trenton's Chief Medical Examiner.

"It was Haney."

Pleased, I gave him a hard nod. "Give me the gist."

Stumpy scanned the report. "Time of death was one thirteen. Says here the vic was raped repeatedly."

"We know that from our own investigation, which reminds me—I need to call down to Forensics and light a fire under them as well."

He looked up. "I already checked. They've found no fingerprints, no hairs, and no other forms of DNA—nothing. The guy wore gloves and a condom."

"Any drugs in her system?"

"Toxicology says no. And the report here says the only thing found in her stomach was coffee and traces of a cheeseburger from earlier that evening."

I gestured toward the report. "What else does it say? Cause of Death?"

"It was the excision of the heart. She was alive up until that point."

A greasy, sick feeling slid through my stomach at the mention of the heart, along with a healthy dose of anger.

Stumpy continued, "According to Haney, it was a sloppy job, although the knife incisions show some level of precision, despite being erratically administered and rushed. Whoever did it was incredibly angry, almost as if he were exacting retribution toward Candy Netz."

"That all was evident at the scene too," I noted impatiently. "Give me something I _don't _know—something to appease Rogers."

Darryl continued to read through the paperwork. His eyes opened wider. "How about the fact he left a calling card?"

_Huh?_

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"An inch high letter 'C' with a little heart around it was burned into the back of her scalp."

Shades of Myra Flowers. Again, we'd missed something involving the neck. _God, I hated inefficiency!_

"With what?"

"Says here a cauterizing tool of some kind."

Frowning, I stared at him. "I don't remember seeing that, and forensics certainly didn't say anything about it either."

He shrugged, apparently unfazed. "It was dark on scene. Plus, it was probably buried underneath all that curly hair of hers. Easy to overlook."

I wasn't nearly as understanding.

"That's the second time our team has overlooked important evidence at a crime scene—first with Myra Flowers and now this," I fumed. "Two times too many as far as I'm concerned."

"Understood," Stumpy said crisply, straightening in attention. My displeasure had finally begun to sink in. He cleared his throat uncomfortably before adding, "I'm assuming the 'C' is for Candy."

"Never assume," I advised brusquely, still perturbed with our team and myself. "Not in law enforcement anyway."

"Yes _sir_," he responded automatically and then, seeing the look on my face, abruptly closed his mouth.

"_You know what time it is, kid?"_

"_No sir," I whispered fearfully through my rapidly swelling lip._

"_It's time to teach you a long overdue lesson." _

_With painstaking deliberation, he removed his black belt inch by inch until it hung from his hand like a Cobra ready to strike. As he moved toward where I cowered against the tires, all I could think of was Sheee-it-ahhh!_

_He raised the belt—_

"_NO DADDY. NO SIR!"_

I snapped myself from the memory in disgust.

_Get over it, Morelli! People are friggin' going to call you sir when you're a leader. _

Forcing myself to ease the sudden tension in my body, I attempted to smile at the young detective in front of me.

"Sorry. I wasn't anticipating having to meet Rogers first thing this morning. And now I hear our team overlooked an important piece of evidence. I'm not my most congenial right now. A little coffee, and I'll be back on track."

"No problem," he replied graciously, albeit pensively. "Uh—seeing as he's off today, Rodriguez asked me to come in on this case to help—if that's okay with you of course."

Darryl was a good kid, and my actions may have tarnished the slight case of hero worship he'd been sporting toward me since joining the TPD after the Kennard case, which wasn't really all that disappointing. I didn't want to be on anyone's pedestal—too easy to get knocked off.

"It's fine."

"Good, then what's next?"

My brain began to move at warp speed. I was already late for my meeting with Rogers.

"Run a search on any arrests made in the past five years for someone with medical experience," I ordered. "Then do a secondary search for any like cases where bodily organs may have been removed."

"Got it. Want me to call up to forensics and see how they missed this?"

"No, we don't have time for accusations right now. We're already a day behind thanks to the holiday. Start the searches while I kiss butt with Rogers. Afterward you and I'll head out and track down the owner of Dominos. We need to pump him for more information about Candy Netz."

He nodded. "The other strippers too."

"Exactly. We need to start putting together a picture of her life, so we can see what links might be out there. Who might've wanted to hurt her—a customer—a friend—a former boyfriend? The possibilities are endless."

"On it."

"Thanks. I'll be back as fast as I can, but that's not saying much with Rogers."

Hand on the door; Stumpy tossed me a grin over his shoulder. "Better you than me, Morelli."

He headed out, and I took another look at the stacks of reports waiting my review or signature.

It was time to get to work, but first—Rogers.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

No sooner had I gone back to sleep after Joe left than my cell phone rang.

"—lo," I slurred following the third ring.

"Hope you're enjoying that warm, toasty bed of yours. Next year you'll be freezing _your _ass off with me at Toys 'R Us at friggin' five in the morning."

_Mary Lou._

I squinted at the clock on the nightstand. Seven ten.

"Hey, Mare."

The sounds of mass humanity gone berserk could clearly be heard in the background.

"Hey, yourself. Would someone please tell me why I subject myself to this torture every year?"

Yawning, I tried to peel my eyes open again. "What's the 'must have toy' this time?"

"A Hot Wheels Remote Control Terrain Twister and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Secret Sewer Lair Play set. I think I might've left some bitch in aisle six with a broken arm, but I got 'em both."

_A secret sewer lair play set?_ "What the hell ever happened to footballs and bicycles?"

"Don't ask. But you'd better start paying attention. You're going to have twice the fun of doing this."

Actually shopping for toys _did _sound like fun. "Why are you hassling me? I'm trying to sleep, since it _is _my last year for rest and all."

"Because I'm bored out of my mind. I've been standing in line at the register for forty-five minutes. Obviously they got these cashiers at 'Rent-a-Boob'."

"Well have fun—" I was ready to go back to sleep.

"Don't cut me off, Plum."

"Morelli."

"Whatever! I'm out here fighting the masses on my own, without coffee, and only a few days out of the hospital, while you're lounging around—probably recovering from your tenth orgasm this morning. I ask you, what part of this equation is in my favor?"

"You deserve Mother of the Year honors."

"You're damned right, I do. And you be sure to tell Lenny my Christmas present better reflect that fact too!"

"How about if _I _give you an early Christmas present instead?"

She was immediately suspicious. "It'd better be good. I'm already having a horrible day out here."

"Well, how'd you like to come have an even worse time tonight with me, Grandma Mazur, Val, Connie and Lula?"

"Are you serious?" Intrigued, she stopped fussing.

"Dinner at Mexicana Grill."

"And?"

"And nothing. That's about as much excitement as I can handle."

"Mmmm hmmmm. We'll see about that." I could practically hear her gears spinning through the phone. "Okay, count me in. Say, let's go all out and get dolled up—the works."

"Jeans and a sweater—"

"No, no, no. It's probably going to be one of the last times you're going to get to go out looking good for a _long _time. You need to—"

"Gee, thanks," I sputtered sarcastically. "What? Am I about to turn into a troll or something?"

"Pregnant with twins, Morelli."

"Shit, and people wonder why I call you my best friend."

"I _am _your best friend. Who else would tell you the truth like that?"

She had a point.

"I'll come over to your house around five. We can do the whole shebang. I'll help you."

I didn't answer, still debating the possible consequences in my mind.

"Come on. In fact, let's tell _everyone _to meet at your place at five. We can get ready en masse and then ride over to the restaurant in your SUV. You can be the designated driver."

"What fun." I rolled my eyes.

"Quit rolling your eyes," she sniped, proving once again why she was my best friend. "Oops! Gotta go—I'm next in line. See you at five!"

She disconnected, and I tossed the phone down beside me on the bed. Glancing down, I saw Bob standing beside me, his head resting on the mattress. He looked up at me in pity.

"I know. I know. It's a disaster waiting to happen," I snapped, glaring into his disapproving eyes. "But what's a girl to do?"

He let out a slow whimper.

"Oh, what do you know?" I growled back.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Sherry the Flirt was missing from her desk when I arrived in Brett Rogers' office. Seeing the open door, I entered to find him standing by the large picture window, hands clasped behind him, overlooking the city.

"Come in, detective," he ordered softly, without bothering to turn around. "Coffee's in the corner."

I took my time pouring myself a cup and waited for him to plop down behind his desk before taking the seat across from him.

"Heard you caught a gruesome one Wednesday morning," he offered casually, trying to establish an air of neutrality between us.

"Just got the ME's report a few minutes ago." I had no interest in playing more of my boss' bullshit games. I'd tell him what he wanted to know about the case, but then I was out of there. "The guy left his calling card, which our people missed, including me."

His eyebrows rose in curiosity. "What was it?"

"An inch high letter 'C' with a heart around it."

"Hmmm…the victim's first name was Candy, correct?"

His offhand comment only served to further irritate me. "You know as well as I do we can't assume—"

"It wasn't an assumption, Morelli—merely a statement," Rogers chided. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, eyeing me carefully.

"Fine." _God, I didn't want to be there. _"Yes, her name is Candy Netz. She was a stripper down at Dominos."

I proceeded to provide him with the details of the investigation; using the clear, concise jargon we were both comfortable with.

"Davis and I are set to go over to the club to begin the process of piecing together her life here in Trenton," I finished minutes later.

Rogers nodded. "Keep me apprised."

"Will do."

I moved to stand.

"How was your Thanksgiving?" he asked benignly, causing me to pause mid-air.

_Nothing about his question was benign. We'd reached the real reason for the meeting._

_Play it cool, Morelli._

"Typical. Yours?"

"Stressful," he admitted with atypical candor. "My family is getting tired of me being mentally absent these days."

I merely stared at him.

"I've struggled after our last meeting, Joe," he continued uncomfortably.

Our last private conversation had been the morning after we'd rescued Stephanie from the swamp when Rogers had finally admitted his role in the events surrounding my father's death.

"How is Stephanie?" he inquired. "The babies?"

"Fine," I repeated. There was no question I was being an ass again. But the whole thing was so damned frustrating! No matter which way I turned, my past was a constant mirror being held up to my face.

"Good," he nodded, ignoring my rudeness. "And you? How are you doing?" I opened my mouth, and he quickly added, "And you'd better not fucking well say fine, because I know you're not. Neither one of us is fine."

"What do you want from me?" _Why dance around one another when you could box instead?_

He wasted no time before responding. "I want you to start talking to me, so we can work this situation out."

"Situation!" I snorted. "You intentionally withheld information about the significant role you played in the most defining moment of my life, and you callously refer to it as 'a situation'?"

"I don't mean to belittle your troubles—"

"You know _nothing _of my troubles. I've got a pregnant wife barely out of the hospital from being kidnapped by a madman, a mother with a broken heart; one brother trapped in a hospital bed fighting to get back on his feet, and another who's clearly not in his right mind—" I stopped abruptly, well aware I'd said too much in a rare lack of self control.

Rogers was quick. "What's that? Are you referring to Paul? What about him? What's he done now?"

"Nothing—"

"Don't shut me out, because you're pissed at me, Morelli," he warned. "Are we talking alcohol here? Drugs? Is he trying to make contact with Stampler's sister? So help me God, if I find out you're hiding incriminating information, I'll—"

"I'm not holding anything back. Unlike others, I tell the truth!" I hadn't just overstepped the professional boundary between us; I'd friggin' obliterated it.

But h_ow could he even THINK of questioning my honesty after how I handled the situation with Tony and Paul and the Meachum/Stampler case?_

"That was uncalled for, detective," Rogers glared. "I don't need your guilt trip any longer. I did what I felt was right that night—just like any other decent cop would have. And what if I hadn't? Did you ever stop to think of that? Tony might've been convicted of murder, and then who knows what would've happened to the rest of your family. Hell, you might not even have become a cop.

"I'm not holding anything back about Paul," I repeated stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge he very well could be right about the course of my life.

The acting chief of police sighed loudly. "Why do you have to be so goddamned pigheaded, Morelli? Why can't you see I'm trying to extend an olive branch here—to make things right between the two of us?"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why the olive branch. Why do you keep bringing all this shit back up with me? Are you worried what you did back then was wrong?"

"No," he stated unequivocally. "I've resolved my guilt, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it meant saving an eight-year old boy the horror of that night—if it meant keeping a young man from going to prison for a crime he didn't commit."

"You sound convinced Tony didn't kill Rocco." I wasn't about to tell him Tony had confirmed the same thing to me only the day before.

Rogers leaned back in his chair tiredly. "I know he didn't." He waited a beat before adding quietly, "I opened the sealed file, Joe."

An all-too familiar cadence began to pound in my chest.

"Two weeks ago, you refused to do it when I asked. Your exact words were the past needs to stay in the past—that there's no statue of limitations on murder."

"I know what I said," he muttered. "And I changed my mind. We need a sense of closure to this mess. I felt the file was the only way to provide it."

"Do you even have the authority to do that?" I wondered in disbelief.

He inclined his head. "The file was not ordered sealed by a judge. It was a private matter swept beneath the carpet by our own police department, buried in the archives of the basement, and one that only you and I are aware of."

"And Gazarra," I admitted. "He was the one who found it, but he'd never say anything."

"As acting police chief, I saw no reason to involve the court system in an internal matter. I opened the file myself with Bud Reynolds as my witness."

It was getting more difficult to remain impassive. I wanted to know the contents of that file in the worst way. Thankfully Rogers didn't make me beg.

"After examining the evidence with fresh eyes twenty-seven years later, it's my professional opinion Tony did not kill your father. Reynolds concurs with my assessment."

"Tony said as much when I confronted him face-to-face yesterday at the hospital," I confessed reluctantly, still not knowing whether to fully trust Rogers or not.

But there was no way I could deny the relief I felt at having concrete proof neither my brother nor I was a murderer.

"I believe he was merely trying to save your life."

"I agree."

I had to swallow over the sudden lump in my throat.

"Where is the file now? I'd like to review it myself."

"Shredded."

"Why? You knew I wanted to see it!" _Could I really trust anything he said?" _

"Given the potential harm it could cause Tony if put into the wrong hands, Bud and I felt it prudent to destroy it. As I said earlier, it was an internal file with no link to a court of law. No file equates to no evidence."

"You really believe Tony? This isn't some kind of angle you're playing here?" I asked doubtfully.

"Despite a lifetime of foolish choices, I don't think your brother has it in him to commit murder," Rogers assured me. He waited several poignant moments before continuing, "Which is one of the reasons why I've been working with Richard Samuelsson to try and get his FTA charge reduced to rehabilitation."

"You know about that?" Now I was completely dumbfounded.

He smirked. "There isn't much I don't know about, Morelli. It's my job to know."

For the life of me, I couldn't figure out what Rogers was up to. Part of me wanted to take him at face value but recent experience had showed me how unwise that plan was.

"Are you helping Tony out of guilt?" I accused somewhat bewilderedly.

His response was deadly serious. "No—out of gratitude. Your brother's actions prevented your father from beating you to death. It allowed a good kid to eventually grow up, despite some set-backs, and become a great cop." He looked at me boldly. "I had a role in that too, you know. So did your mother and every other person who swore that night to protect you."

Tony's words from yesterday came back to me then:

"_Listen, Joseph—I get that you're angry with me—with Ma—hell, with all of us—but you have to stop looking at this from merely your viewpoint. More than just your life was affected that day."_

"Well, your efforts may not make a difference," I said to Rogers defensively, still fighting the need to cling to my anger like a talisman. "Even if Tony is allowed to forego jail time, the cost for the treatment facility is insane."

"So I've heard." He continued eyeing me speculatively. "Actually, that's not my greatest concern right now."

"What is?"

"_Our_ relationship."

My gaze sharpened, and he rushed to add, "Our _working _relationship. Joe, there's too much at stake for us not to deal with the awkwardness between us."

"What exactly do you see is at stake?" My suspicion was growing deeper by the minute.

He went silent, and suddenly I knew.

"The governor has finalized the new city commission," I stated the obvious.

"I received the phone call late Wednesday night from Governor Juniak himself," he confirmed soberly. "He's appointed Evelyn Nash as mayor."

While I didn't know Evelyn personally, I knew her reputation as a strong woman with years of public service work.

"How soon before the new commission will meet?"

"As early as next week. The first order of business is to determine whether they'll make me the permanent chief of police or open up a nation-wide search."

I didn't know whether to be relieved or disgusted that the real reason for our meeting had finally been made clear. Rogers was back to playing political chess, and once again he was using my family and me as pawns.

He fumbled miserably. "I'm not doing a very good job of this—"

"No, you're not," I agreed without an ounce of warmth.

"I want you to know two entirely separate conversations are taking place here, Morelli."

"And what would those be?" I asked dully.

He adjusted his glasses again. "Everything I've said to you is the truth. You got to me the day your father died—your whole family did. And in my own way, I've spent a large portion of my career looking out for all of you."

_What the hell? Was he trying to make himself out to be my family's patron saint now?_

"What do you want, Rogers?"

His forehead had a fine sheen of sweat covering it. Balking, he said, "I've seen the list of names the governor has appointed. Some of them are friends—some are not. All of them are going to seek feedback from our people as to whether they think I'm capable of doing the job. You and I both know the opinions of some will carry more weight than others."

He paused until I looked directly at him. "_Your _opinion will carry the greatest weight thanks to your work on the Kennard Case and your personal relationship with the governor."

"What—do—you—want?" I repeated through a jaw now tightly clenched.

"Your support," he let out in a burst of air. "Your vote of confidence, your influence, your—"

"I get the picture."

"No, I don't think you do," he frowned. "You have no idea how hard I've worked to get to this point."

"Oh really? Who the hell do you think it was who suggested you for the position in the first place?" I demanded incredulously. "A move I've questioned a million times in the past two months!"

He visibly deflated before my eyes. "You question whether I can do the job?"

"Yes," I answered bluntly. "But not because you lack ability. You're a damned fine cop. You just suck shit at politics."

A flash of anger crossed his face, before he fisted his hand on top of the chair's armrest and answered humbly, "You're right."

"Let me ask you this, Brett—do _you _think you're capable of leading the Trenton Police Department?" I asked pointblank.

"Yes." His voice was controlled and confident. "I had my doubts after Myra Flowers death and Stephanie's and Tony's injuries. Their faces have haunted me the past two weeks."

"I know the feeling," I rejoined sincerely, dropping my cynical attitude for the first time since I'd arrived in his office.

He sensed the change as well.

"Listen, I'm sorry for not having come clean with you when you joined the force, and I'm particularly sorry for questioning your loyalty to the badge. But I'm asking you to not allow your personal feelings to prevent you from being a part of the TPD team—_my _team." He studied me earnestly. "And I'm asking you to be willing to voice your support for my leadership if asked."

Not waiting for a response, he continued, "I'm willing to offer my support in return in any capacity you can think of."

"You're already trying to help Tony," I pointed out needlessly.

"That's for Tony—not you."

Against my will, his words touched me with their sincerity.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Joe?"

Without warning, Manoso's outrageous plan to buy out Vinnie came to mind. If ever there was an opportunity to ask Rogers to turn a blind eye to Stephanie's lack of law enforcement experience, it was now.

The question was could I do it?


	8. Chapter 8

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Did you think I disappeared into the wind? Sometimes I wish I could! Unfortunately, my real life has gotten out of control with commitments these days, and while I faithfully try to write every night, the amount of time I'm able to devote to it has dwindled considerably. In fact, a good majority of this chapter was written in parking lots while running from one event to another. LOL! Thank you for your patience, and hopefully the longer chapters make up for the longer absences in between. The craziness won't be letting up for at least another month or two, so please bear with me. I'll try not to let you down.

Once again, I must thank Julie and Kim, my two unbelievably talented beta readers, for their time and energy. Your dedication to my stories is as much a part of what keeps me going as the feedback from readers. I'm truly indebted to you both.

One of the POV's has quite a bit of Spanish in it. I have included a series of footnotes at the end of **the POV** to help with the translation.

Hope you all have a great weekend!

* * *

Chapter Eight

**Cheryl's POV**

Feet resting on the dash in front of me, my knee bounced in time to the boring classical music Ranger had playing in the car. The rhythm matched the impatience surging through my system perfectly.

"Stop fidgeting. It's distracting," my newly acquired bodyguard chastised in a clipped tone, refusing to look at me.

"I can't help it. I'm bored. And who the heck listens to classical music anymore? How old are you?" The dig was petty, but I truly was bored. And Ranger and his music were _really_ annoying.

"Old enough to have maturity, which clearly you don't. Now stop it."

"Why don't you pull over and let me drive?"

Ranger reached over and snapped off the stereo, glaring at me in annoyance. "What the hell difference does it make who drives? We're not going anywhere."

True.

We'd been basically parked on Interstate 95 for the past three hours in a long line of travelers anxious to get home. Worse yet, we hadn't even moved thirty miles from my parent's house. The expressway still only had one lane open. Every time we picked up speed, another car went off into the ditch, and we all had to slow down again.

"Besides, you made it _more _than clear before we left that—" he switched his voice to falsetto in a poor imitation of me, "you wouldn't be caught dead driving this thing."

The 'thing' he was referring to was the Lincoln Navigator my father had presented me when I announced I was moving to Trenton. Out of pride and a warped sense of loyalty to my Camry, I'd refused the luxury SUV, claiming I didn't want any special treatment because I was the only girl in the Sullivan family. Ranger, however, had let me know in no uncertain terms what he thought of my principles and insisted we drive it back to Trenton. Knowing it was futile to fight him _and _my parents, I'd given in.

No way in hell would that be the pattern for the future.

"I still don't see what difference it would've made to take the Camry." I gestured out the window. "Either way we'd still be crawling."

"Shit, that bucket of bolts of yours wouldn't have made it out of your parent's driveway let alone this far."

"_Hunh—_you're right about it not being very far," I agreed glumly. "At this rate, it'll be Christmas before we get back to Trenton."

_If only the cars ahead of us would MOVE!_

"We'll be in Trenton tonight—even if I have to get out and push us there," came the harsh vow back.

"Typical," I scoffed. "Resorting to a he-man attitude. Are you always this irritable, or is it just me?"

"I'm not irritable. I just don't have time for another complication like this."

_Complication?_

The single word put blood in my eye.

"You insensitive jerk! If anyone's life is being complicated, it's mine. Thanks to you I'm stuck with an egotistical control freak who willingly bled my father dry in order to line his own pockets."

Shifting in my seat to get a better look at him, I couldn't resist jeering, "Tell me—what're you going to buy with all that money, _Manoso_—an all new black wardrobe? Another black Porsche? Why not go all out and buy yourself a new blackened personality? God knows the one you have sure as hell sucks."

A muscle in his cheek jerked, which meant I'd struck a nerve. _Well, good! _The asshole deserved it after bartering over me like a piece of friggin' real estate. _Why hadn't I just_ _refused any sort of bodyguard and taken my chances on my own?_

"If I have any money left over, I'll be sure to buy you some gratitude," he offered insolently.

"Don't bother. They don't make it in a size that would allow me to feel grateful toward a mercenary."

"Now you sound like your mother!"

"Leave my mother out of this," I warned in a dangerously low voice. "And I didn't ask for your help or anyone else's."

"Because you're too goddamned stubborn for your own good."

"_Aarghrghargh!"_

The snarl of frustration burst from my throat like some sort of African tribal call. Really, the man was the most obnoxious, conceited and overbearing jerk I'd ever had the misfortune of knowing. And that was saying a lot given my family's position in the military world and my former relationship with Mac.

Confinement in such a closed in space wasn't helping either. But thank God we _were _in the slightly roomier quarters of the SUV. At least that way our body parts didn't have to touch like they would've in the Camry. It was bad enough having to deal with Ranger's arrogance. I couldn't imagine having to deal with the weird sexual energy that ignited whenever we touched.

The cars ahead of us finally began to move.

Bored and revved at the same time, I looked for something to ease the tension between us. We both needed to find some kind of common ground if we were going to be stuck in that car for the unforeseeable future. After all, I was a friggin' professional! I couldn't afford to give him ammunition for calling me immature. Matching his calm, cool-headed indifference would be the only way to survive.

He inched the vehicle forward again.

"Are you hungry?" I questioned in a more subdued voice.

"You asked me that five minutes ago, and I said no. _Nothing _has changed since then, Zoomie." _His_ tone was that of a parent speaking to child.

_Patience Cheryl._

My jaw tightened. "It was a simple question, and a simple answer would have sufficed—_Grunt_."

"No."

Snorting derisively, I unbuckled my seatbelt to reach back into the space behind us where Gertie had packed a cooler full of food. Unfortunately, that put me in closer proximity to Mr. Sunshine, who looked and smelled too nice for his own damned good. He appeared horribly uncomfortable in the jeans and sweatshirt Chip had loaned him. Not that they were the wrong size. On the contrary, the denim fit perfectly, as did the Navy blue sweatshirt. But you could tell they were about the last two items in the world he would normally wear.

Come to think of it, I'd never seen him in anything but black or deep-colored shirts before, which got me to wondering. _Was his underwear black? For that matter, did he even WEAR underwear?_

_Interesting. _

The image of him sans underwear made my stomach jittery, and I forcibly shoved the notion aside. Picking through layers of turkey sandwiches and fruit, I finally hit pay dirt near the bottom of the cooler.

"A-ha!"

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_A-ha? _

_Who the hell said 'A-ha' anymore?_

"Do you mind sitting back down," I ordered testily. "The last thing we need is to slide off the road like all these other jackasses and ruin the beautiful vehicle your father gave you."

More accurately, the last thing I needed was her denim-clad butt wiggling near my face while she scrounged for food like some sort of pack rat. The way the material molded to her rounded curves was making my own pants uncomfortably tight, and no way did I want to sport a hard on for the next umpteen hours.

Sometime during the long night before, I'd finally resolved myself to the fact Cheryl Sullivan was a beautiful woman—no make that a stunningly gorgeous woman. But that didn't mean I had to act upon the lustful feelings my body seemed to have toward hers. I was a grown man—a soldier for Christ's sake. My self-control was legendary.

_If only her perfume wasn't like some sort of pagan aphrodisiac._

Cheryl plopped back into her seat and held up a bag of cookies triumphantly. "Ta-da—Snickerdoodles! Gertie makes the best. Want one?"

Actually, it came out more as 'Whthon', because her own mouth was already stuffed with half a cookie.

"No thanks."

She rolled her eyes. "Come _on. _It's nearly eleven o'clock in the morning. Neither of us ate any breakfast; we've been on the road for hours. We both deserve a snack break."

"I don't eat sweets."

Her mouth dropped open comically.

"You poor thing!" she gasped. "Are you diabetic? I didn't know. God, I'm sorry for teasing you like that."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "I'm not diabetic. I simply don't eat sweets. Sugar isn't good for your body."

"_Oooohhh_." She said the word as if she were the Queen of England smelling royal dog poop. "You're one of _those _people_."_

"If one of 'those people' refers to intelligent adults who prefer to take care of the body God blessed them with, then—yes—I am one of _those people._"

Cheryl bit off another large chunk. "Okay—no sweat. Want an orange instead?"

_That was it? No pestering? No arguing? _

"No." Hearing how rough I sounded, I added in a slightly more civil tone. "No thank you."

She shrugged and jammed the rest of the cookie into her mouth. "Suit yourself."

The line ahead of us began to move a little faster, and I gunned the engine.

"We're moving!" She said it like a kid who'd just discovered Christmas.

"Thank God," I muttered, praying we'd hit better roads soon. News reports had indicated the snow was far less the closer we got to New Jersey.

No sooner had I uttered the makeshift plea than a pick-up three vehicles ahead of us did a complete 360 and slid off the expressway into the ditch.

"Watch out!" Cheryl cried, instinctively putting her hand out to stop me from thrusting forward.

The Navigator fishtailed wildly, and I watched in disgust as another car went over the embankment. The good news was I'd been able to keep our vehicle under control.

The bad news was we were once again at a friggin' standstill.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Police! I know you're in there, Jacko. Open up or I'm closing you down."

Banging my fist against the employee entrance of Dominos for the third time in two minutes, I rolled my eyes at Stumpy Davis. Ten seconds later the heavy metal door flew open to reveal Jack Riggs, owner and manager of Trenton's busiest strip club.

Jacko and I were well acquainted, having had numerous run-ins through my years working Vice. While he mostly ran a clean operation, the patrons that frequented his club weren't nearly as pure, nor were some of the employees who managed to sneak through the screening process.

"What the fuck you bothering me for, Morelli?" his Jersey voice grated. "It's fuckin' eleven in the morning. You know I don't open until Noon." He scrubbed his beefy fingers over stubbly skin. "Christ, I just woke up ten minutes ago. Thanksgiving night's one of the busiest nights of the year for me."

"Lucky you," I noted dryly, pushing my way past him into the employee lounge backstage. "How considerate of you to keep raking in the money when one of your employees was murdered not three nights ago."

"Hey! Business is business," he pronounced loudly, raising himself up to every one of his five feet five inches. The man was as round as he was tall, pushing sixty years of age, with a receding hairline of red curly hair and a pair of dark green eyes that never missed a trick.

"Yeah, and I bet a lot of it was generated after word got out one of your girls was killed."

He shrugged. "I'll take whatever publicity I can get."

"You're a real prince, Jacko." Grabbing a chair that looked halfway sanitary, I turned it around and took a seat. "Let's talk."

Stumpy eyed the dubious surroundings and chose to stand. He quickly pulled out his notebook and pen when Jacko dutifully took the chair next to mine.

The owner's expression narrowed in annoyance. "I already talked to your people Wednesday morning. They crawled all over this place looking for clues. I got nothing more to give you."

"Give it to me again, and I'll be the judge."

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. "I did nothing wrong. Candy was a clean hire—over age, drug free. Don't be trying to pin any of this bullcrap on me."

"Detective Davis?"

Stumpy stood taller. "Yes si—Detective Morelli."

"Have you heard anything come out of my mouth yet that would indicate I'm out to pin something on Mr. Riggs here—the fine, upstanding businessman that he is?"

"Nothing my ears picked up on."

"Mine either."

Jacko shifted uncomfortably. "Cut the shit, Morelli. What do you want?"

"For starters I want to see the security disk from Tuesday night."

"Your men already looked at it."

"But I'm not my men now, am I?"

He grunted. "Fine. What else?"

"How far back do your disks go?"

"A month."

"I'll want all those too."

His mouth flopped open. "You got to be friggin' kidding me!"

"You can give it willingly, or I'll get a warrant. Your choice."

"You're makin' a fuss out of _nothing_."

My stomach burned at the thought of Jacko thinking that lifeless girl I'd viewed with my own eyes as nothing. Of course, he didn't know the vile way her body had been desecrated. No one outside of the TPD did yet. The rest of the world only knew she was dead."

Rubbing a hand over my eyes, I refocused. "Tell me about Candy."

"I already told—"

Leaning forward, I put on my best cop face. "Jacko, either you start talking, or I'm calling in the health inspector."

He tried to cross one of his stubby legs over the other. Tossing his hands in the air, he let out an annoyed burst of air.

"What's to tell? She was a stripper—a nineteen-year-old farm girl who struck out in New York and ended up here about three months ago. She did the job, stayed away from drugs and didn't cause me any headaches. Now she's dead."

"That's cold, Riggs—even for you."

"Jesus, what do you want from me? I barely knew the girl!"

"Did you know her in the biblical sense?"

Jacko nearly leapt out of his seat at the question. "No! She was _nineteen, _Morelli, and I'm a friggin' grandfather."

"That wouldn't stop a lot of men—"

"But I'm not a lot of men," he furiously twisted my own phrase back in my face. "Listen, I may run a strip joint, but it's a clean operation, mostly because I keep my own life clean. I've been married to my wife Livvy for thirty-five years, and I've never once cheated."

"Commendable," I derided. "How about your customers. Are their lives as pristine?"

He scowled. "I don't claim to be running a church social in here. It's men who want to drink and look at naked women. Nothing more—nothing less."

"Do you recall any of them taking a personal interest in Candy?"

"No more than they take an interest in any of the others," Jacko snorted. "I protect my girls when they're here. No one touches, no one has access to them backstage—it's a safe environment."

"How about outside of your protective bubble? Was Candy seeing someone? Did she mention a boyfriend? Was she looking for extra cash and turning tricks on the side?"

"You've a one-tracked mind, Morelli. You know that? Why you have to keep lookin' for trouble? The girl obviously got mugged on her way home from work Tuesday night. End of story."

"She walked _every_ night?"

"That's right. She had an apartment on Lafayette, which is—what—six blocks or so from here?"

"And you never thought it best to see to it she got a ride home? Dominos isn't exactly in a country club locale, Jacko."

"It ain't my job," he insisted staunchly, standing. "Now I got work to do before the lunch crowd comes in—"

"He took her heart." I flung the words out like a grenade waiting to detonate.

Jacko paused with one foot in the air looking at me blindly. "Say what?"

"The bastard viciously raped her and then cut out her heart."

He stumbled back into the chair he'd vacated.

"Don't fuck around like that, Morelli," he whispered in his gravelly, smoke-induced rasp.

"He's telling the truth," Stumpy spoke up, eyes never flinching.

"Jesus God." He slumped further in his seat. "I had no idea—"

"I need those security disks and whatever else you can give me. _No one _deserves to be defiled that way."

"My day girls are in the dressing room. Let me bring them in," he offered, his slimy bravado replaced by an earnest desire to help. "You can talk with them while I pull the disks together. You'll want to take them with you."

"In the meantime, you start thinking, Jacko. Who might've wanted Candy Netz dead?"

"I don't know." His face was pale. "I swear to God, I don't know."

"I don't either, but you can be damned sure I'm going to find out."

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

"I have to pee."

"You should've thought of that before you had all that water to drink."

_Sigh. _

My patience was waning again.

"Not all of us are camels, Manoso."

"True—some people are just smarter than others."

No, he definitely wasn't a camel. He was a goddamned jackass_._

I rolled my eyes. "You're right. My PhD-riddled brain is much too cluttered to understand something as simple as avoiding dehydration."

"I thought you were a soldier."

"I was."

"A good soldier can survive on the most basic of—"

"This isn't war, Manoso." _Yet. _"I don't need your lectures, and I don't need your lessons. I just need to pee. Can you _please _stop at the next rest area?" My jaw hurt from having been stuck in a clenched position too long.

"The next rest area isn't for forty miles."

"Fine—there's a McDonald's at the next exit."

"With traffic like this, it's too hard to—"

"McDonald's—now—or I pee in the car. Your choice."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_God, the woman was irritating._

Clearly she had no intention of letting me do the job for which I'd been hired without trying to piss me off at every turn. It figured too. Rich daughter of a four star general, she'd probably spent her entire life telling servants what to do and how to do it.

Only the stereotype didn't seem to fit the leggy psychiatrist. Despite the cold reality we'd only traveled sixty miles in five hours, she'd yet to complain. In fact, she'd been blissfully quiet for the most part and hadn't tried to force conversation upon me. Instead she'd fired up her laptop and spent the bulk of the time working.

Truth was we needed gas, and I needed to stretch my legs and get some fresh air or else I was going to fall asleep soon. We may not have traveled far distance wise, but the gas tank in this beast of a vehicle sucked fuel like a flesh eating monster.

Ten minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of McDonald's. The smell of grease immediately enveloped the car and made my stomach ill.

Cheryl had the door opened before I'd even fully stopped. "Be right back."

"Wait—I need to walk with you—"

She was gone—coatless, and practically doing a little kid's pee dance through the snow that had yet to be fully plowed. Once again she'd chosen to disregard my new role in her life. _How was I supposed to protect her if she continued to ignore the need for protection?_

Not bothering with my coat either, I hastily climbed out of the car to go after her.

Just then my cell phone rang.

"_Crap__," _I muttered, seeing the caller ID. Moving gingerly through the snow in the black dress shoes I'd worn the day before, I cautiously greeted, "Hola, Mama."

I swear a blast of steam burst over me before she spoke heatedly in Spanish.

"Carlos? Why didn't you call me yesterday? Why did I have to hear from your cousin you weren't coming for dinner? You promised you'd come."

"I'm sorry, Mama. I got snowbound in Boston on the way home from Miami. Didn't Lester tell you?"

"Of course he told me. The question is why didn't _you _tell me! You too busy to call your Mama while sitting in an airport all day?"

"I didn't stay at the airport." _Careful._ "I—uh—ran into a former associate. He took me to his home to share dinner with his family. It was hectic. I'm sorry," I repeated lamely. As tough as I my reputation was, _nothing _could make me meeker than a conversation with Alondra Manoso.

A flurry of Cuban profanity stung my ear, and I couldn't help but stifle a laugh. My petite mother was tough as nails and could swear better than most Army Rangers. God knows she had to be tough on me as a kid. Memories of my wayward youth and stint in reform school before I'd headed down south made me thankful once again for my parent's tough love.

"Where are you now?" she asked.

"In a McDonald's about fifteen miles past Worcester. The driving is for shit."

"You're driving? Why?"

"Uh—business. It was better to take a car." Regardless of what Dr. Headcase thought, it _was _business.

The smell inside the chain restaurant was even worse than that which wafted through the air outside. Looking around, I was nothing short of repulsed at the sight of an entire building full of people stuffing their faces with greasy, artery-clogging time bombs.

Naturally, Cheryl was nowhere in sight. _  
_

My mother continued her Spanish litany. "You have to come through Newark. You stop for dinner tonight. Make up for yesterday."

_Yeah right. Now THAT would go over well with my passenger._

"Not a good idea today, Mama. But I'll visit soon, I prom—"

"You come to dinner." The tone of her voice left no room for argument. "Your Grandma Rosa wants to see you. She isn't well."

I rolled my eyes. Grandma Rosa was conveniently ill whenever my mother wanted to see me.

"I can't—"

"You _will. _I'm making Arroz con Pavo de Perez-Puelles—your favorite."

The traditional Cuban dish was customarily made with chicken, but my mother always substituted turkey on the day after Thanksgiving. And she was right—it was one of my favorites.

"I'll call your brother and sisters. Everyone will come back—"

"No. Mama—"

Her voice took on a distinctively martyr-like whine. "Carlos, you know I don't ask for much."

_Oh God. _Here it came. Not only Mother's guilt, but _Catholic _Mother's guilt. _Nothing _would stop her now.

Cheryl sauntered out of the bathroom then, looking decidedly less uncomfortable. Seeing me on the phone, she hustled over to get in line at the counter, which meant she was planning on eating all that crap in the car—no doubt to get back at me for having given her a hard time over the need to pee.

Well two could play that game.

"I'll come," I promised before my mother could say another word. "But just you, Pops and Grandma. I really don't have time for a big reunion."

I also didn't want to have to explain Cheryl's presence to my siblings and their families. Explaining her to Mama and Grandma Rosa would be bad enough.

"Uh—I'll be bringing an acquaintance along as well."

She jumped at the words, as I'd known she would. In fifteen years, the only person I'd ever brought to meet my parents had been Rachel and that'd only been once before the divorce.

"Acquaintance? What's this? You have a girlfriend and not tell me?" Out came another stream of colorful commentary.

"She's _not _my girlfriend. She's—"

Shit, how to answer. I didn't necessarily want to tell my parents about the protective detail.

"Is she pretty? Single? Catholic? Never mind. It doesn't matter. We'll see you for dinner." My mother was so excited I was bringing a woman to her home, she didn't even care who she was.

My eye spasmed. "I have no idea what time we'll be there, but probably not before six or seven," I grunted.

"No worries. Adios, Carlos."

I disconnected just as Cheryl came up with a bag of food and two cups of coffee.

"Here—truce." One side of her mouth slanted as she handed me a cup. "Thank you for stopping."

Her golden eyes captured mine, and my heart leapt foolishly.

"I had a talk with myself in the bathroom just now," she confessed ruefully.

My eyebrow went up. "Is that a normal occurrence?"

The slant turned to a full-fledged grin, and the leaping inside me intensified. "For me it is."

Clearing my throat, I rolled my eyes. "And what did you tell yourself?"

She shrugged. "We've obviously gotten off on the wrong foot. You like order and control; I like spontaneity and control. Right there is a recipe for disaster. Truth is, I'm still angry with you and my father for cooking up this deal behind my back. But we have a long road ahead of us—literally _and _figuratively, and I wanted to at least make an effort."

My leaping heart landed with a thud.

"We didn't cook up—"

A couple of rowdy teenagers bumped into Cheryl then, launching her into my chest. Bobbling her coffee and the food bag, she managed to crush both between us, with the coffee cup came perilously close to spilling.

I barely noticed—not with her face that close to mine.

God, those eyes! And now those amazing breasts I'd caught a glimpse of the night before were brushed right up against me. Responding foolishly to the natural desire of a beautiful woman, my free hand instinctively wrapped around her waist in an effort to steady her. Our mouths were mere inches a part, and instantly the wild current that seemed to continuously stream between us whenever we were in close proximity sizzled.

If only we weren't in the middle of a public place, I'd kiss—

_No! What the hell was I thinking? _Still, she felt so good next to me, and my starving libido was aching for a taste of her.

"The bag is getting smashed," she whispered, her cheeks flushed with the same awareness I was feeling. "Ranger—the bag."

I found myself missing my given name on her lips. What would it feel like to hear her beg for release, screaming 'Carlos' into a darkened room—our bodies entwined—

"_Ranger!_"

_Shit. _Releasing her, I took a full step back and hoped she didn't look below my neck.

"We need to get going," I said gruffly to the point of rudeness. My lack of self-control was embarrassing. "This little side trip has cost us valuable time."

Her flush deepened—only now it was from anger. "What we _need _is to stop sniping and work together."

"I don't snipe," I said coldly. "And we sure as hell aren't going to work together. Your sole job is to allow me to do _my_ job and protect you, _which includes _not leaping out of moving vehicles on your own."

"Are you always such a jerk?" she demanded, all trace of friendliness gone.

"Are you always this unprofessional?" I countered bitingly.

She inhaled sharply. "You're worse than a jerk. You're an insufferable bore. It's doubtful you even have it in you to hold on to _any_ woman—not with your lack of charm."

The blow was low and swift—and hurt more than I cared to admit so recently after Stephanie's rejection.

I'd been wrong earlier. Dr. Headcase wasn't irritating. She was a spoiled pain in the ass.

Let's go," I said stiffly, jerking my head toward the door.

"Gladly." Moving swiftly, she headed for the SUV.

Suddenly she stopped and bent down to fuss with her boot. Scooting around her, I'd taken two steps when a cold mound of ice slammed into the back of my neck, sliding beneath the borrowed sweatshirt.

In a voice that would've frozen the Atlantic, she said on her way to the car, "You're welcome for the coffee."

I should've asked for a million dollars.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

The doorbell rang promptly at five o'clock, which didn't surprise me. Grandma Mazur had probably been ready to go since three.

"Better start praying, Bob," I muttered.

Saying a quick one myself, I opened the door to the mob moll, the soccer mom, the senior citizen, the former 'ho—and now Val, the desperate housewife.

"Hey," I greeted tepidly, moving out of the way to allow them inside.

They needed the room too. Each of them was schlepping a garment carrier, an overnight bag and a purse. Bob went crazy with all the commotion, and I quickly grabbed onto his collar before he could knock down my grandmother.

"When did this become a slumber party?" I asked bemusedly, taking in their luggage.

Val rolled her eyes. "It's not a slumber party. Jeez, Steph, you of all people should know beauty doesn't just happen. You have to work your ass off for it."

Spoken like a true sister. _Who'd invited her again?_

Lula set her stuff down and gave me the once over, taking in my sweatpants and baggy t-shirt.

"Lawd, it's a good thing we got here when we did. You look 'bout ready for one of them Extreme Makeovers." She stared at my clothing. "What's with that get-up anyway? You think Officer Hottie actually gets turned on watchin' your saggy butt walk around this house wearin' that?"

"It must've worked before. She's got twins in the oven, doesn't she?" Connie snorted. She opened up her suitcase and pulled out a blender. "And speaking of appliances—I wasn't sure if you had one of these. It's—called—a—blender." She enunciated the last words as if she were talking to a ninety-year-old deaf woman.

My eyes narrowed. "Bite me, Connie."

Grandma winked and slipped a bottle of Jose Cuervo out from behind her back. "Since your mother is cutting back on the booze with Jessie in the house, it was easy for me to pilfer this."

"Grandma!" Val tsked facetiously. "You know Stephanie can't have alcohol."

"Who said anything about Stephanie?" Grandma retorted, cackling loudly as she followed Connie and my sister into the kitchen. "Lula, you got the mix?"

_Mix? _

Lula yanked a large bottle out of her bag and called back, "Sí, Sí, Señora." Seeing the look on my face, she snorted. "Don't worry. We won't leave you out. The first batch is virgin just for you."

She took two steps toward the kitchen before stopping to give me a wicked grin over her shoulder. "Do you even know what a virgin is?"

My tongue popped out. "You can bite me too."

Turning, I found Mary Lou slouched up against the wall, taking everything in.

"Ready for some fun, Morelli?" she asked with a crooked smile after the others had left.

"Mare—"

She pushed off the wall.

"Relax, will ya? We're all just fooling with you."

"I'm not sure I can relax."

She looked at me seriously. "Listen, both of us went through hell a couple of weeks back. We deserve to let loose and have a little fun."

"I agree, but I'm not so sure Joe and Dr. Hamilton would prescribe the same idea of fun as all of you."

"Pbbbltth! You think any one of us is would let you do something to endanger those babies?"

I let out a slow breath. "No."

"So quit talking crazy. Those of us who can are simply going to get blinged up, liquored up and filled up with some awesome Mexican food. What could go wrong with that?"

Someone turned on the blender in the kitchen.

My eyebrow cocked. "Have you taken a good look at our group?"

She shrugged. "So we're an eclectic bunch."

"Girlie, better come get your drink before we the pop the cherry on the rest of this mix!" Lula hollered.

"Eclectic?"

Mary Lou held my gaze. "These people love you, Steph."

"I know."

"Then come on—loosen up. Let's have some fun."

She was right. These women were my best friends in the world, and I _did _need to loosen up. Just because I was pregnant didn't mean I had to avoid fun at all costs. Stephanie Michelle Plum Morelli may have grown up a lot in the past three months, but she was still me. And _this _me wanted to go out and stir up a good time with my girls.

My lips twitched up. "Sí, Sí Señora."

"That's my girl," she praised. She slung her arm over my shoulder. "Come on, let me buy you a drink before I get my cherry popped."

Snorting, I cracked, "Too late. That fruit got picked a LONG time ago."

"Bite me, Morelli."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"It'd help if we knew what the hell we were looking for," Darryl grumbled from the seat next to mine.

_And wasn't that just the truth?_

Sitting in one of the forensic crime labs, it felt like Stumpy and I had been looking at security disks for days when in reality it'd only been several hours. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Every disk had to be catalogued and individual freeze frame images of patrons copied into our system for future cross-referencing. Ed Gavorski, one of the technical experts from the forensic team, had proved invaluable in our endless and methodical task.

Conversations with Jacko's 'girls' had led us nowhere. Most were scared out of their minds, thinking the attack against Candy Netz had been directed toward her because of her profession. None had heard her speak of a man in her life and all were adamant the young girl had no known enemies.

"It's five-thirty," Ed noted, looking at his watch for the fifth time in ten minutes.

My bleary eyes met his in challenge. "And?"

"And it's friggin' an hour and a half past shift. I need to get home."

"Since when is being a cop a nine to five job?"

"Don't give me shit, Morelli. I've got overtime up my ass already. It's a holiday weekend, man. My wife's family's still here from Cleveland, and I need to get home."

Stumpy shifted restlessly in his seat.

I turned on the young detective. "What? I suppose you have a hot date too?"

"Well—"

My hand waved in surrender. "Fine—go—both of you. I should check in downstairs anyway. But we need to get back on this first thing tomorrow."

"_Rodriguez_ and I will," Stumpy agreed. "_You'll _take the day off."

One eyebrow lifted. "You in charge now, Davis?"

He flushed. "No, but you're working a double tonight, aren't you? You deserve some time with your family too for the holiday weekend."

I nearly snorted at the idea of spending time with my family, until I remembered _Stephanie _was my family now. Hell yes, I wanted to spend time with her—preferably naked and without interruption from either one of our extended families. But then I remembered my promise to take Jessie to Newark as well as the impending meeting with Ranger over the bonds agency.

So long second honeymoon.

Standing, I shot Gavorsky a look. "Think Ling has had any luck researching that burn mark on the girl's neck?"

Frances Ling was one of the TPD's top forensic experts. Before meeting with Rogers earlier in the day, I'd asked her to look into whether that particular symbol had been identified on any other murder victim nationwide—no easy feat.

"I doubt it. Too soon." He flipped off his computer screen and stretched. "This one's going to be tough, Morelli. Whoever killed her was smart—smart enough to suit up and cover all his tracks. And the biggest unanswered question is why this girl in the first place? Does he have a thing for strippers, or was she merely a random hit?"

"I don't know, but it's a damned good question. We need to be searching harder to see if other clubs have been hit on the east coast—hell, across the country."

"I'll ask the night shift to start another search before I leave," Stumpy offered.

"I'll do it," I responded. "Go on—both of you. Enjoy your nights."

"Hope yours is quiet," Gavorsky snorted. "Could be a wild one—day after a holiday and day after a snowstorm to boot? People are going to be restless, sick of relatives and itching to get out and stir up some trouble."

"Good times," I muttered.

Ten minutes later, I was back at my desk with a fresh cup of coffee and a bag of Chex Mix from the vending machine. The night crew had their orders, and so far all was quiet. Checking my watch, I decided to catch Stephanie before she headed out with the girls.

* * *

**Step's POV**

My living room looked like a cross between a French Bordello and a Mexican Fiesta.

Everywhere I looked were women in various forms of undress, and a number of these women I _really _didn't need to be seeing without clothing—namely my grandmother and Lula. Not surprisingly, the two that needed the most covering were the least shy of the group.

Grandma sat at the kitchen table in her slip, support hose and low black heels while Connie did her hair. Her skin hung in folds like sheets of fried chicken skin. Meanwhile, Mary Lou worked on Val's make-up, while I lounged on the couch, still in my sweats, watching the whole thing unfold like a bad sorority porno flick.

Poor Bob hadn't known what to think of all the commotion. He'd long since retreated to our bedroom.

Lula turned the volume up on a salsa CD she'd brought along and took another slug from her margarita. Seeing her large frame up close and personal, I was once again awed by the fact she could squeeze that amount of flesh into some of those tiny outfits she wore.

Thank God for spandex, which was probably going to become my new best friend in the coming months too. Looking down, I noted my once flat stomach had a decided pooch to it. The idea both thrilled and repulsed me. Before I could dwell too much upon it, however, Lula called out to me.

"Hey girlie, what'cha going to wear tonight?"

"Whatever I can fit into," I retorted, leaning my head against the armrest. "My options are getting more limited by the day."

"You need to wear one of those sexy bras we bought at the mall on that awful day we will not mention a couple of weeks ago," Mary Lou said loudly over the music. "Bet Morelli would enjoy discovering one of those babies tonight."

"Right—he'll be lucky if he doesn't pass out before he gets to the bedroom," I tossed back. "He's pulling a double shift, remember?"

"I bet Officer Hottie won't have _any _trouble finding his second burst of energy after he gets a load of what we do to you tonight," Connie observed, spraying a cloud of hairspray so thick around Grandma's head, it could've been used as a weapon of mass destruction on some small, third world country. Thankfully no one smoked among us. The whole house would've likely gone up in flames.

The house phone rang then, and I dragged myself off the couch and out to the kitchen.

"Hola," I yelled into the phone, and then covering the receiver, called out, "Lula, turn the music down!"

She pointedly ignored me, doing a little hip sashay while holding her drink. Thank God the living room curtains were closed. I could just picture every ancient male neighbor of ours super glued to the outside siding, hoping for a peek.

"Steph?" Joe's confused voice rang out through the receiver.

"Joe? Is that you? I can hardly hear you."

"I tried to call your cell, but you didn't answer," he explained in his normal voice.

"What? I _can't_ hear you. Lula's got the music turned up too loud."

"I thought you were going to dinner?"

"Dinner? No, I'm not at dinner. I'm at the house. Duh—you just called me here, remember?"

"Are you sure that crew hasn't been slipping you something to drink?" he asked suspiciously.

"Of course not!" I answered defensively. "But I will say they're getting pretty happy. Evidently, I'm the designated driver tonight."

"Be careful, okay?"

Though I could barely hear him, the worry in his voice was more than evident. "We've already been down this road, Morelli—"

"I just have a bad feeling—"

"Trust me."

"I do, but—"

Grandma stood up then, and Lula started teaching her how to grind. The process set both of their chests, particularly Grandma's, to jiggling, and in their loosened up state, Val, Connie and Mary Lou thought this was the funniest thing they'd ever witnessed. They started hooting and hollering, as if they were at a strip club.

"My eyes!" I cried, throwing a hand over them. "I think I've just been blinded by boobs."

Joe jumped all over that. "Did you say boobs? What the hell, Cupcake—?"

"One set's too big and one's too shrunken. Don't worry though; they're both covered. They're just doing an awful lot of bouncing."

"Steph, it's your turn for hair," Connie called.

Waving her off, I grabbed the cordless phone and took it into the half bath off the kitchen.

"I got to go," I said in a lower voice. "It's my turn to get beautified. I miss you though. Come home as fast as you can. I'm wearing a new bra just for you tonight."

That got his attention and _his _voice deepened. "Yeah? Will you be jiggling in it too?"

"Come home and find out."

I heard the almost imperceptible growl. "Well, don't look _too _good. I don't need half the men of Trenton ogling my wife tonight."

For some reason the thought of Joe worrying about whether I'd get hit on that night made me feel a whole lot more enthusiastic about going. Soon I'd be as big as a house, and _no _man would be interested in me. Now more than ever I was determined to enjoy the night and give my man a reason to bring out his territorial side when we got home. Joe's way of staking his claim was oh so pleasurable.

"I love you, Joe. Has your day been okay?"

"Tedious. I'll bore you with the details tomorrow. Have fun tonight, Cupcake. I love you too."

Disconnecting, I reentered the craziness, laughing as Mary Lou joined Lula and Grandma in a conga line around the room. I couldn't imagine anyone having more fun than I was right then.

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

I couldn't imagine anyone having a worse time than I was right then.

My brooding bodyguard and I hadn't spoken a word to one another in over five hours—not even when we'd stopped for gas. Ranger never once asked me to drive, and I never offered again. Having grown up in a family of men, I'd learned early on arguing with a brick wall was pointless.

The rest of Massachusetts and most of Connecticut had offered the same endless crawl along the highway. But by the time we'd reached New York late afternoon, the roads had cleared considerably and traffic had picked up, especially once we were on the Jersey Turnpike.

If we could avoid any more traffic clogs around Newark, we'd make Trenton by around seven-thirty. I could hardly wait to be in my own place again, although I was starting to get nervous about what would happen once I got there. _What all did Ranger assume serving as my bodyguard entailed exactly? _My stomach grew queasy at the possibilities.

Minutes later, he shot off the turnpike onto an access road for Newark. Noting the gas tank was nearly full, I glanced at him quizzically, but his eyes remained purposefully focused on the road.

Curiosity finally got the better of me.

"What are you doing?

"I have to make a stop."

I waited for him to elaborate, and when he gave me nothing, my attitude instantly came back.

"Think you can give me a little more than that? I'm a psychiatrist not a mind reader."

His fingers gripped the steering wheel as if he wanted to crush it with his bare hands. "I need to stop at my parent's house."

"You have parents?"

The question slipped out in a moment of shock, which was stupid really. Of course he had a parents—_everyone _came from somewhere. Still, it was hard to picture the man beside me with parents, siblings and a normal life. He acted like he ate rocks and lived in a cave.

"I missed the holiday with them yesterday, and my mother asked if I could stop and have dinner on the way back today."

_What?_

He had to be joking. No way would he subject me to something that uncomfortable when we barely knew one another—in fact, could barely even _tolerate _one another.

"You're kidding, right?" I stared at his profile waiting for him to crack a smile. "Is this some kind of game in retaliation for the snowball?"

"I wish. Believe me, no one wants to get back to Trenton more than I do."

My mouth dropped in instant outrage. "You can't just shanghai me into going wherever you want. _You_ work for _me_, remember?"

Ranger's jaw clenched at the reminder. Part of me was ticked at myself for sounding so bitchy, but the other half didn't care. He and my father had stripped me of any sense of independence, and the realization stung bitterly.

"It'll be a short visit—a friggin' hour at the most," Ranger said gruffly, like _I _was the one inconveniencing _him._

"So what am I supposed to do while you eat this dinner? Sit in the car?"

"Would you?" he asked hopefully, turning onto another road. Seeing the dumbfounded look on my face, he rolled his eyes. "Be serious. You know I can't leave you alone, and the sooner you face that fact the better for both of us."

Shoving a lock of hair out of my eyes, I gave him my best glare. "Well, then you've got your work cut out for you, Grunt, because I've been on my own a long time. I don't answer to you—or anyone."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Goddamn it.

Our constant bickering was getting us nowhere.

As a leader, I knew when to fight and when to back down. Much as I'd like to let her know just what I thought of her Royal Highness mentality, right then was definitely a moment worthy of retreat. She was right. I _had_ shanghaied her. And yes, it was partially in retaliation for the snowball, but also for every other frustrating moment I'd spent with her since arriving on her father's doorstep yesterday morning.

Two weeks ago, I'd never imagined I'd be grateful for the hell I'd suffer in training Lula. Who knew it would serve as good preparation for what I now would have to endure with Cheryl?

Breathing slowly in and out, I managed to calm down and do what needed to be done.

"I'm sorry I sprung this on you." The words were stiff, forced and spoken through gritted teeth. I couldn't remember the last time I'd apologized to _anyone_. "You're right. I should've told you I needed to make this stop."

Cheryl looked momentarily shocked at the apology but quickly recovered.

"Yes, you should have," she agreed doggedly.

"If I promise to get us in and out of there quickly, will you please stop fussing?"

"I'm hardly fussing."

"Come on! I had to sit through the meal from hell yesterday with a hundred and five Sullivans. The least you could do is allow me this time with my family."

Her eyes flashed. "Don't even try pulling the guilt card, Manoso. My own family already used that one already today."

"I'm not—"

"Just be quiet and drive, will you? Jeez, give me a minute to think!"

It wasn't often someone had to tell _me _to be quiet, and the rebuke smarted.

We were in one of the rougher parts of Newark, a few blocks from my parent's place, and I needed to focus anyway. There were several hardcore gangs that resided in the area—a fact I'd used a number of times to get my parents to allow me to buy them another house in a better part of town. But they'd lived their entire marriage in a neighborhood very similar to the Burg. Nothing but death was going to get them out of there at this point.

Cheryl looked around curiously.

"You grew up here?"

"I did."

I could see her mind quickly shifting into shrink mode. She noted several gang members hanging on one of the street corners.

"Were you part of a gang as a kid?"

"Not all of us grow up with silver spoons in our mouths."

The response was harsh, but my life was none of her business, and I was still pissed over her earlier remark. The only thing she needed to know was I'd protect her life with my own. That's what her father was paying me for—nothing more, nothing less.

I twisted my head back and forth, trying to work out the kinks in my neck. Lack of sleep and too many hours driving had left me punchy and off my game.

"What's it going to be, Zoomie?" I asked in a weary tone. "Are we going to my parent's for dinner, or do I need to call my mother and beg off?"

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

_Good grief._

I did _not _want to go anywhere with this man, and the only place I wanted to be was in my own home—preferably alone.

Turning to tell Ranger exactly that, I noticed the fatigue lining his face. It served him right for refusing to allow me to help with the driving. Yet at the same time, my heart softened. He looked young and almost boyish in Chip's borrowed clothing.

A good meal was what we both needed.

Tossing my hands in the air, I reluctantly acquiesced. "Fine—I'll go."

If I thought there'd be effusive thanks on Ranger's part, I was sorely mistaken. He merely inclined his head a fraction. Probably the apology he'd given me earlier had tapped him dry of all manners.

Now I was stuck. I'd committed to eating a meal with complete strangers—one of whom was a mother.

I didn't do well with mothers.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

In an instant, Cheryl's entire demeanor went from anger to panic. Flipping down the passenger visor, she fretted and fluffed at her hair while peppering me with questions.

"How many people are going to be there? Am I dressed appropriately?" She opened her purse and pulled out a small cosmetics bag. "God, look at me!" she muttered disgustedly.

_No thanks._

I'd looked at her too much as it was already. The image of her in those jeans was going to haunt my dreams for the unforeseeable future.

"You look fine," I said roughly, trying to get both our minds off her looks. "It'll just be my parents and my grandmother."

"Do they know I'm coming?"

"I told my mother I was bringing an acquaintance. She assumed it was a woman, but I didn't elaborate. I didn't want to get her hopes up."

Cheryl stopped fussing to look at me. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't want my family thinking this is something it's not," I clarified.

"And that would be?"

"Never mind. Just trust me it was best not to say anything about you."

"I don't trust you at all."

"Well, you'd better start if I'm going to protect you."

She shook her head. "Highly unlikely, which is why hiring you was a bad idea in the first place. Now tell me what you meant by not wanting to get her hopes up."

I shifted restlessly. She wasn't going to let it drop.

"You know—like a date or something."

Cheryl snorted. "Yes, God forbid you show up with someone like me as a date."

"Now what the hell is _that _supposed to mean? I didn't say anything like that. Jesus, stop being so sensitive."

"I'm _not _sensitive!" she retorted defensively.

We pulled up in front of my parent's small home. Setting the brake, I turned to look Cheryl fully in the face. I may have fought Hawk against taking on the responsibility of protecting his daughter, but now that I'd agreed, I'd give them both nothing less than my best. Yet in order to do that, I needed Cheryl's cooperation, which included at least the basic element of trust—and that trust needed to start with me.

"My mother is like any other mother. She—" I shifted uncomfortably. "She wants to see me happy."

I didn't often share personal information about my family with anyone, except maybe Tank and Lester. The few times I'd allowed Stephanie any personal history it'd been in relation to a job we were on and it'd felt awkward—at least for me. This was no better.

"Translated—your mother wants you married off like mine does, right?" Cheryl interpreted dryly, rolling her eyes.

"Perhaps," I agreed noncommittally.

It felt oddly comforting to share a least some sort of bond with her—even one as superficial as meddling mothers.

She smiled for the first time in hours. "I get it. So then, who am I—your secretary? Your attorney?" The smile grew. "Your shrink?"

It took a lot of self-control _not _to smile. The woman was a pain in my ass, but she _was_ funny.

"Believe me, the last person I'd be caught dead with would be a shrink," I shot back derisively.

Cheryl's smile dimmed considerably, and her response was cool. "Your loss."

I was beginning to wonder if maybe she was right.

Ignoring the thought, I continued brusquely, "You're exactly who you are—the daughter of an acquaintance."

"Is that what my father is to you—merely an acquaintance?" She seemed disappointed in my assessment.

"What he is doesn't concern you."

Avoiding further comment, I climbed out of the SUV and came around to open the door for her, all the while scanning our surroundings. It was dark, and though it was unlikely her stalker was anywhere near us, I wasn't taking any chances.

Cheryl wasted no time stepping out of the vehicle and giving me a dirty look. "Listen up, Grunt—_everything _about you concerns me, at least until we're finished with this ridiculous scheme you and my father have engineered."

"It's not a scheme. It's business," I reiterated testily. My patience was wearing thin of having to repeat myself.

The snow wasn't nearly as deep in Jersey as it'd been in Massachusetts, but there was still a good ten inches if not more. Thankfully, someone had shoveled, so we were able to make our way up to the front door without issue.

I gave a single, hard knock and opened the door, ushering Cheryl into the front hallway. The sound of the evening news being spoken in Spanish could be heard from the small den where my father was probably half asleep waiting for dinner. I'd never told Stephanie, but our families were very similar in many ways. Come to think of it—very much like Morelli's family too, except mine wasn't entirely crazy like both of theirs.

"Mama?" I called out, helping Cheryl out of her coat.

"Carlos!"

My mother fairly flew out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a red, button-front apron as she moved. Despite pushing sixty-five years of age, Alondra Manoso remained a beautiful woman. Tall and slender, her salt and pepper hair was pulled back into a neat bun, her complexion was still creamy smooth, and she'd defied the odds of getting heavy after giving birth to six children. Sharp, black eyes immediately took in Cheryl's presence, and she smiled graciously.

She pulled me into her arms and gave me a kiss on each cheek. "Mi hijo—mi bebé, oh cómo te he fallé. Pasa. Pasa. ¿Quién es esta hermosa mujer, Carlos?"1

I answered her in Spanish, "I told you, Mama. She is the daughter of an acquaintance. Don't start on me—or her."

Cheryl looked at us dazedly, her face pale in the bright light of the entryway. Suddenly I felt a momentary sense of remorse. The psychiatrist's entire life had been sent into an upheaval over the past two days—first by the stalker, then by her father and ultimately by me. Even if it was for her own protection, none of it had been by her choice. And like I had the day before, she was being asked to endure a meal with strangers.

My mother must have sensed her discomfort as well for she put her arm around Cheryl's shoulder.

"I'm Alondra Manoso," she spoke cordially in perfect English. "Welcome to our family's home."

"Cheryl Sullivan," my charge returned politely.

"A lovely name for a lovely woman." Mama turned her head and raised her voice, calling out, "Juan Carlos! Your son is finally here, and he's brought a beautiful woman to dine with us." Whispering conspiratorially to Cheryl, she added, "If that doesn't get him out of his recliner, I don't know what will."

"Thank you," Cheryl said quietly—and oh so properly. "It's very kind of you to have me."

The side of Mama's mouth curled in an imitation of my own. "Why do I sense you had no say in whether you are here tonight or not?"

Cheryl's eyes warmed at my mother's intuitiveness and her tone softened. "Regardless, I can see it'll be a privilege to eat at your table."

I could tell Mama was impressed by Cheryl's good manners, and I couldn't help but wonder what she would've thought of all the glitz and glamour of yesterday's Thanksgiving meal at the Sullivan mansion. I couldn't imagine Barbie Sullivan welcoming my parents into her home unless it was to hand them a mop or a shovel.

Mama thumped me lovingly on the side of the head. "¡ Necio! Ya puedo ver se trata de una mujer con clase y buena crianza, Carlos. ¿Por qué usted tratarla con tan poco respeto? Ella tiene un alma que necesita ser alimentado y atesorado-no tratados como una transacción de negocios."2

My mother had always been strangely clairvoyant when it came to reading people and situations, a skill I'd inherited and had put to good use in the business world. But now she was reminding me that life wasn't all about business, and that I shouldn't treat Cheryl as merely a transaction—even though in a very real sense she was. That I suddenly felt uncomfortable about the whole thing only served to tick me off.

My father, Juan Carlos Manoso, appeared in the doorway to the den. He was tall as well and still in perfect physical condition thanks in part to years spent as a brick mason before his retirement two years ago. While we weren't as close as he and my brother were, we had no issues either. Seeing him stand next to my mother, however, made me realize just how long it'd been since I'd visited. Both my parents were much grayer than when I'd seen them last.

"Carlos, good to see you, son," my father greeted, clasping my hand and giving me a pat on the back. He shook Cheryl's hand next. "I'm Juan Carlos. Welcome."

"Cheryl Sullivan."

"Come into the dining room," Mama invited, fluttering between Cheryl and me. "We're ready to eat. Let me just get your grandmother." She practically danced into the kitchen.

Her obvious excitement had me feeling badly. The only woman I'd ever brought into my parent's home had been Rachel, and that'd merely been the one time for them to see an infant Julie. My marriage had been so brief; they'd never had the chance to get to know either Rachel or Julie. Now that I was working toward establishing a bond with my daughter, I needed to find a way for her to know her paternal grandparents as well.

_So many mistakes made—so many things to try and make right._

I felt Cheryl's gaze on me, and for one moment allowed myself to wallow in the insanity of dreaming what it'd be like to bring a woman I loved into this house and wanted my family to love as well. I'd made the mistake of thinking one day that woman might have been Stephanie. She would've fit in so easily.

But _that _particular fantasy was over and done. And now I needed to concentrate on rebuilding the other areas of my life, namely my relationship with Julie and my business. No way did I ever plan to put my heart on the line again.

"Are you all right?" Cheryl whispered, as my father led the way toward the dining room.

"I'm fine."

Still feeling the hurt of my earlier thoughts of Stephanie, I brushed her off with perhaps a little more force than was kind, particularly given the fact she was doing me a favor by being there in the first place.

"Liar," she challenged with a slight smirk. She breezed past me to take a seat at the table.

_Damn it—why'd she have to be a psychiatrist? _Her ability to read me was off-putting.

No sooner had we taken our seats at the table than my mother appeared with Grandma Rosa. Immediately I stood to greet my paternal grandmother, who lived nearby in a senior housing complex. My maternal grandparents lived in Miami. They were the ones who'd taken me in after my stint in reform school as a young teen.

Grandma Rosa had come to America after my grandfather Ricardo, for whom I was named, had passed away. Two years and the woman still didn't speak a word of English. Small and wiry, she'd always frightened me as a child when she'd come to visit once a year. Back then, her black eyes had seemed hotter than burning coal and her fingers fast like a snapping turtle, especially when they were pinching my ear or swatting my backside. While she wasn't as scary as Morelli's grandmother, who was a total nutcase as far as I was concerned, Rosa had her moments as well. One disapproving look from her, and you feared for your health—no matter what your age.

"Carlos, haz aquí y dar un abrazo a su abuela. ¿Por qué no has venido a verme en tanto tiempo? ¿No sabes que no soy mucho de este mundo?" 3

That warranted an inner eye roll. If I had a dollar for every time, my grandmother thought she was at death's door, I'd be an even wealthier man.

"Ven bien para mí, abuela. De hecho, vea maravillosa."4 I gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Se trata de Cheryl Sullivan, la hija de un conocido mío. Le estoy dando ella un paseo hacia atrás a Trenton después de la celebración de acción de gracias con su familia."5

Grandma lifted her head up and down in a slow perusal of Cheryl, who upon hearing her name, stuck out her hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Rosa's eyes squinted, which meant she was about to spout some sort of Cuban mumbo jumbo and scare us all to death again.

"Finalmente has caído, mi nieto. Tu corazón ha sido capturado."6

My mother gasped and made the sign of the cross, while my father looked on curiously. Unlike Morelli's lunatic grandmother and her 'eye of nonsense', Grandma Rosa had an almost uncanny track record of predicting the future. She was even more clairvoyant than my mother, and the two had always shared a bond over their ability to read people and situations. I'd inherited the trait honestly from both sides of my family history.

But this time she was wrong. While my thoughts toward Dr. Headcase may have turned more lustful in recent days, my heart was my own now that Stephanie had returned it, and no woman was going to change that fact—especially not the one beside me. Her family connections alone would preclude us from ever sharing anything more than the business at hand.

"Te equivocas."7 My tone was stone cold sober.

"What is she saying? What are _you _saying," Cheryl hissed near my ear. "Why isn't she speaking English like your parents?"

"She doesn't know how to," I offered dismissively, still shaking my head at the two older women in my life.

My mother overheard. "What she said was—"

"Not important," I finished firmly. "Let's eat."

"Why won't you tell me?" The irritation was back in Cheryl's voice.

I was tired—physically _and _mentally. That was the only excuse I could think of to explain why I snapped back, "Because it's none of your business."

"Carlos!" Mama chastised. "That was rude and uncalled for."

Unlike Stephanie's father who would've been silent because he was stuffing his face, my father was quiet because he was silently assessing me. I'd never realized until that night how many of my characteristics were so readily apparent in my parents.

Grandma Rosa's eyes flashed. "No cuestionan a su abuela. Sé la verdadera pasión cuando la veo. Yo compartí durante cincuenta y tres años con su abuelo. Esta mujer ha conquistado su corazón."8

I opened my mouth to object, when Cheryl nudged me with her elbow. "What'd she say now? It doesn't sound good at all. Have I done something to offend her?"

"It's nothing," I enunciated impatiently. "Let's eat."

Cheryl bristled, and my father said quietly, "My mother has indicated she feels a strong connection between you and my son. She thinks you're his canción del corazón."

"Dad—stop."

"What's a canción del corazón?" Cheryl asked curiously, butchering the pronunciation miserably.

"It means you are his heart song. The one meant to belong to him," my mother explained with a hopeful glint in her eye.

Cheryl's jaw dropped. "His _what_!"

"Sí—canción del corazón," Grandma Rosa nodded emphatically. She kissed her closed fist and placed it over her heart.

Turning, Cheryl drilled me with a look that spoke more volumes than anything she could've said aloud.

It was going to be a long car ride back to Trenton.

* * *

Footnotes for Scene:

1 "My son—my baby, oh how I've missed you. Come in. Come in. Who is this beautiful woman, Carlos?"

2 "You fool! I can see already this is a woman with class and good breeding, Carlos. Why do you treat her with such disrespect? She has a soul that needs to be nurtured and treasured—not treated like a business transaction."

3 "Carlos, get over here and give your grandma a hug. Why have you not come to see me in such a long time? Don't you know that I'm not long for this world?"

4 "You look good to me, grandmother. In fact, you look wonderful."

5 "This is Cheryl Sullivan, the daughter of an acquaintance of mine. I'm giving her a ride back to Trenton after celebrating Thanksgiving with her family."

6 "You've finally fallen, my grandson. Your heart has been captured."

7 "You're wrong."

8 "Do not question your grandmother. I know true passion when I see it. I shared it for fifty-three years with your grandfather. This woman has captured your heart."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

A knock at the door to my cubicle jarred me from the mounds of paperwork in which my head was buried.

"Enter."

Looking up, I saw Gazarra standing there, holding his uniform cap.

"Hey Eddie, Happy Thanksgiving, man. Did you have a good holiday?"

"Same old—same old," he replied easily. "Both Shirley's and my families came to our place. It was pure chaos for six hours. I was glad to have to work tonight. We're still not finished cleaning up at home."

I snorted and thought to myself that Shirley was probably still whining over the fact too.

"What's up?" I asked, seeing the look of expectation on Eddie's face.

"We're shorthanded downstairs," he explained. "Scheduling messed up and allowed too many uniforms to take today off. Dispatch just informed me the switchboard is already lighting up with calls. It's going to be a long night."

"And you want me to go on patrol," I finished glumly.

Eddie nodded. "You and anybody else you've got available up here. We need the manpower."

Tilting my head back against the top of my desk chair, I let out a long breath. "Give me ten minutes, and I'll be down."

"Thanks, Joe. You're with me."

"Well, there's a silver lining," I joked. "Think we can swing through McDonald's while we're out there?" Thinking of Stephanie and her girl's night out at Mexicana Grill, I added, "Or Taco Bell?"

"I'll even spring for the tacos," he offered. "See you in a few."

He left, and I let out another groan. Hopefully we weren't in for a hellish night. God only knew what kind of insanity people would conjure up on the night after a holiday _and _a snowstorm.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"Look at the cars," Connie said as I pulled my SUV into the parking lot of the Mexicana Grill promptly at seven o'clock. "Did anyone think to make a reservation?"

"Puhleez—places like this don't take reservations," Lula retorted.

"Well who cares if we get in right away or not? They've got a bar, right?" Val reminded her new drinking buddies. "We can wait all night if we have to."

_Uh—no. That was NOT happening._

Scanning the lot, I reminded my sister. "I care. I've got two babies wanting to eat, and they aren't going to be patient."

"At least you're hungry again," Grandma Mazur noted from the far back of the vehicle. She was practically sitting on Lula's lap on the little jump seat in the makeshift third row. "I was starting to think you'd puke yourself to death."

"Ew—please. Don't even get me to thinkin' about puke," Lula shuddered. "All I can see is peanut butter in the gutter. Remember that, girlie?"

"How can I forget?" I grumbled to Mary Lou, who was sitting in the front passenger seat. "She won't let me."

Mary Lou laughed. "I'm guessing it wasn't pretty."

Lula wouldn't give it up. "You ain't going to be puttin' any of that shit on your burrito tonight, are you, cuz if you are, I gotta sit as far away from you as possible. I can't be messin' up this dress. It cost me damn near an entire paycheck."

"Which isn't saying much," Connie rubbed in.

"What's the deal with the peanut butter?" Val interrupted crossly. She hadn't been privy to my bizarre cravings and didn't want any disgusting thoughts raining on her rare night out.

"Never mind," I muttered, finally finding a parking spot.

The six of us slid out of the SUV with as much glitz and glitter as a pack of Bratz dolls on steroids.

Making our way into the packed restaurant, I marveled at how a tiny dive of a bar during the week could turn into a full-scale operation on the weekends. They even had a band playing—a very loud band—and had cleared away some tables to make room for a small dance floor.

"This is insanity," Connie yelled above the noise. "Should we go someplace else?"

"Hell no! I want my burrito," Lula said stubbornly. "Don't worry. I'll get us a table."

Elbowing her way through the crowd to the hostess stand, she conducted an animated conversation with the gal in charge. After lots of arm waving and pointing at me several times, she gave us the okay signal. Two minutes later, we were seated at a nice round table in the corner near the dance floor.

While handing everyone a menu, the hostess paused when she came to me. "You let me know if there's _anything _you need, Mrs. Morelli—anything at all."

My eyebrows popped up, and I shared a glance with Mary Lou. "Um—okay. Thanks."

"Rosita will be by in a moment to get your drink orders, and the first round is on the house."

No sooner did she leave, than I pounced all over Lula. "What the hell did you say to her?"

Lula purposely opened her menu before answering.

"I told her the truth—that your man is an important cop in Trenton, and he wouldn't want his pregnant wife standin' around in no crowded lobby. He might have to think about callin' in the health inspector _and _the fire chief."

"Oh ho ho!" Connie snorted.

"Brilliant!" Mary Lou praised.

"I can't believe it worked," I added in amazement, and then my face took on a considering look as I pictured more opportunities where I could use his position to my advantage.

Mary Lou read my mind and muttered beneath her breath, "Down girl."

Lula, puffed up with pride over her quick thinking, continued, "We can't be wastin' our time standin' out there in no lobby. Steph's liable to have a cow if she doesn't eat soon. We can't keep them babies waitin'"

"Correction. Stephanie Plum _is _a cow."

_NO, NO, NO!_

There were only two voices I truly despised in this world. Joyce Barnhardt's was one, and the other was now standing directly behind me.

Val stood quickly, smoothing down her hair. She looked flustered. "Terry! God, I haven't seen you in ages. How are you?"

_Jeez, suck up to her why don't you, Val? _

My sister had spent a good portion of her teenaged years trying to break into Terry Gilman's inner circle without success, and while she wasn't a huge fan of hers any longer, traces of awe still lingered in her voice.

"I'm better than your sister—always," Terry sniffed, looking around the table disdainfully. "So what's this—a commiseration? Did Joey finally come to his senses and file for divorce?"

Val's eyes widened in shock.

"Still a stone cold bitch, I see," Connie remarked dryly, rolling her eyes. "Although why should we expect anything else?"

"Being a bitch is better than being a cow, ain't that right Plum," Terry taunted near my ear.

My blood boiled at her reference to the night at Pino's a couple of weeks ago when she'd vandalized my vehicle. But before I could open my mouth to blast her, my girls beat me to the punch.

"I'm not so sure," Grandma Mazur frowned. "You're looking more and more like a dog every day."

"Woof, woof," Connie barked in agreement. "Bitches aren't invited here. Go away."

"That's right—move along, Gilman," Mary Lou piped up, feigning a yawn. "This is a private party."

"No sweat off my nose," she scoffed. "Unlike all of you, I have a man here to keep me happy."

In perfect synchronization, the entire table turned to see what fool would be stupid enough to share a meal with Terry Gilman. Sure enough, two tables over we found a rather non-descript, accountant type hunched over a beer and looking at his cell phone.

Lula stood up. "Let me out of here. I better go make sure the dude's had all his shots."

Terry looked down her nose. "Don't bother, fatty. We'll be gone before you manage to waddle over to the table."

The urge to rip out every strand of her bottle-blonde hair consumed me. The need for revenge had been building for weeks—ever since she'd first accosted me at Pino's the night Joe proposed. Now the desire wasn't just for me but on my friends' behalf as well.

Lula raised herself up to every inch of her full-figured womanhood. "Who you callin' fat, you skank?"

"You," Terry shot back fearlessly, "although you're not nearly as fat as Stephanie's going to get soon with those two brats she's carrying."

"You'd kill to have those babies be yours, and you know it," Mary Lou piped up before Lula could say anything more. Her fists were already curled for a dogfight.

Terry shifted her attention to Mary Lou and ran a hand down her skin-tight dress. "And ruin this figure? You're crazy. And so is Joey for wanting to be married to a cow. Mark my words, once he's got two squalling brats and a wife that doesn't put out anymore, he'll come crawling back to me."

The entire table burst into laughter. "Shows what you know," Grandma scorned. "Joe Morelli is crazy about my granddaughter."

"Or just crazy," Terry tossed back. "He'd have to be to hook up with a heifer like Steph."

_Patience Stephanie. _

"Would you quit with the cow crap already?" Val shouted. Her bedazzlement with Gilman had flown out the window. "What part of go away don't you understand?"

"What's the matter, Steph? Cud got your tongue?" Terry baited, ignoring the others. "Since when do you need a bunch of bodyguards to protect you?"

I slowly stood to face her. "Never. I'm merely giving you the attention you deserve, which is none."

"Your husband is _real _good at giving attention, isn't he?" she sneered. "As I recall, he can give _hours _of attention." Her eyes took on an even nastier gleam. "Of course, perhaps he's not as inspired by you as he was by me."

_Patience._

"Keep it up, Gilman," I shrugged, studying my nails. "Y_our _time is coming."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she laughed. "What the hell can you do to me? You're _nothing _now that you've married a cop. You can't do anything that isn't honorable or risk the chance of embarrassing your husband."

"Like you know what that word means coming from a family like yours," Connie snorted. "_Grizolli."_

"Takes one to know one, _Risolli_."

"What? We're comparing crime families now?" Mary Lou grunted Jersey-style. "Come on—we've got better things to do. For the last time, Gilman—go away."

"Gladly." Flipping her hair over her shoulder, her gaze encompassed the table before looking at me contemptuously, "Ladies. Oops—" She snorted. "I'm sorry, Stephanie. That word won't make sense to you, so let me rephrase my good-bye in a way you can understand."

Pausing dramatically, she leaned in toward me and pursed her lips, letting out a long, "Moo."

_That did it._

The need to hurt her was all-consuming, and I very nearly jumped her with claws raised. But at the last minute, sanity prevailed, and I remembered my babies. Mary Lou too had anticipated my breaking point and grabbed me from behind just to make certain I didn't take a flying leap.

"Get out of here before I kick your ass myself!" she shouted at Terry, hauling me back down into my seat.

"I'll help you!" Grandma promised. She stood up and shoved the sleeves of her dress up to her elbows revealing those twin folds of chicken-like skin. _Hadn't the first time been bad enough?_

The sound of Terry's abrasive laugh rang mockingly in my ears as she turned and headed back to her date.

"That girl is nothing but trouble," Grandma pronounced.

"I'm going to hurt her," I seethed, steam pouring out of every pore in my body.

"No, you're going to sit down and eat your dinner. You've got two children that need food. You willing to risk hurting them by chasing after Gilman?" Mary Lou questioned harshly.

"I can't let her get away with it anymore," I protested, attempting to stand again. "She won't stop."

"Sit down!" Mary Lou insisted, signaling the waitress. "We all need a drink."

"Fat lot of good a drink is going to do me without any alcohol in it," I grumbled.

"Speaking of fat, what was with all the cow jokes?" Val asked curiously.

"Oh, she's just being her usual catty self," Connie assumed, waving her hand carelessly.

"You mean _doggy_ self," Grandma smirked.

Lula and I shared a look across the table. She was the only one aware of what had transpired at Pino's with my SUV.

"No, it was more than that," she explained. "The bitch put Steph's car out of commission a few weeks back at Pino's. Slashed all four tires and wrote 'Moo' across the windshield after insinuatin' our girl was a cow inside the restaurant."

"What? Where is she?" Val questioned, tossing down her napkin. "I'll hurt her for you. Terry Gilman has _always _thought she was better than us Plum girls."

"Than _any _girl," Connie added knowingly.

"If anyon_e _is going to hurt her, it's going to be me," I vowed.

Mary Lou sat back in her chair looking reflective. "You know, there are many ways to hurt someone. It doesn't have to be just physical pain."

Connie leaned forward eagerly. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm not quite sure yet, but the word cow keeps coming to mind."

"That's what I need," I agreed with an ugly laugh. "An enraged bull to gore her to death."

"Stop thinking physically," Mary Lou ordered. "Think emotionally. I'm talking mental pain and anguish."

Grandma gave a little cackle, joking, "You mean you need for her to have a cow."

"Quite literally," Mary Lou agreed.

Lula burst out laughing. "Ah shit—that'd be the bomb."

"Huh?" Val looked confused.

I was confused too, but I had an inkling of where Mary Lou was going with her thinking. You aren't best friends with someone for thirty years without knowing how a person's mind works.

"Where the hell would we get one?" I mused.

"Get what?" Connie asked.

"A cow," Lula supplied happily. "Damn, we need some drinks in order to plot this baby out. Where's the damned waitress."

Val twisted her head to look at each of us. "I still don't get it. What are you talking about?"

"I'm going to find a cow and have it pay a little visit to Gilman's place," I announced, already scheming of the possibilities.

My sister gaped at me. "That's ridiculous—tonight? Where the hell are you going to get a hold of a cow?"

"At the meat packin' plant," Lula supplied confidently. "'Member when we had that cow stampede last year, girlie?"

_How could I forget? _I still had nightmares about it.

"Omigod—are you people friggin' crazy? You can't steal a cow!" Val freaked. "Let alone the fact you'd be breaking the law, how in the heck would you transport it?"

"With Albert's trailer!" Grandma hooted triumphantly.

_Yes! It was the ideal scenario. Hadn't Albert just invited Joe and me to use it this weekend to haul Jessie's furniture? I'd just borrow it a little early, that's all._

"Perfect!" I grinned at my grandmother. "It's the perfect retribution!"

And that's how 'Operation Retri—moo—tion' was born.


	9. Chapter 9

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Hi-Ho! Hope you are all having a great week.

A HUGE thanks this chapter to Julie and Kim, my beta girls. They helped me more than you can imagine. I continued to be inspired _by_ your creativity and indebted _to_ your combined talents.

Thank you all for the continued support. I love hearing from you regardless of whether the feedback is positive or negative.

* * *

Chapter Nine

**Cheryl's POV**

"You must have more, Cheryl. Please. You not like it?" Alondra Manoso fretted, holding a serving spoon filled with food over my empty plate.

"No!"

Seeing the stunned look on her face, I quickly added, "It was delicious, Mrs. Manoso—truly. Thank you so much, but the two previous helpings were already more than filling. After all the food from the holiday—"

"But you're so thin," Ranger's mother protested. Turning to her mother-in-law, she proceeded to carry on yet another conversation about me in Spanish. No one bothered to translate for me, which had been the theme for the entire meal.

A very long meal.

"Stop fussing, Mama," Ranger rebuked lightly. "She said she's full. We both are. Besides, we need to think about going."

_Thank God!_ It was nearing nine o'clock. We'd spent over two _hours_ at that dining room table, and so far I'd understood less than half of what'd been said. While Ranger and his parents made every effort to make small talk in English, his grandmother needed constant translation, and somehow everything kept getting lost in the process—including me.

"No, don't go—not yet," Alondra begged, looking to her husband for support.

Juan Carlos Manoso eyed his wife. He was a quiet man but seemed filled with intellect and good humor.

"Alondra, Carlos has a busy life. He needs to get back to it. Be thankful we had him for the time we did."

The words had been softly spoken, but I couldn't help but feel he'd just given a subtle rebuke to his son. Beside me, Ranger stiffened imperceptibly, and my intuition was confirmed. _What had just transpired between father and son?_

Alondra was clearly distressed. "But he hasn't even told us about his trip to Miami yet. Carlos, were you able to see Julie?"

_Julie? Who the heck was Julie? A sister? A cousin? A girlfriend? _The last thought bothered me more than I cared to admit.

If possible, Ranger's posture became even more rigid.

_Definitely a girlfriend based upon his reaction. Shit. If that were true, then how in the world had Stephanie Morelli become involved with him?_

Grandma Rosa leaned forward expectantly. "¿Julie? Sí, sí, quiero conocer más acerca de mi bisnieta." 1

Mrs. Manoso turned to me. "Have you met Julie yet?"

"No, she hasn't," Ranger answered harshly before I had a chance to respond. "Mamá que es privada."2

I only knew a few basic words in Spanish, but I caught the word privada.

Private.

He was right of course. His personal life _was_ private and none of my business. Except, he'd been given access to every aspect of my life under the pretext of protecting me—a job for which he was getting paid no less. The inequity of our situations was irksome.

To hell with it—if I had to be subjected to sitting there only understanding half a conversation, then I damned well deserved to know whom they were discussing.

"Who is Julie?" I asked curiously. "Your sister?"

"Never mind," Ranger cut me off brusquely. "We need to go."

"It's his daughter," Juan Carlos provided smoothly. His response had been directed toward me, but his gaze was on his son.

_Ranger had a daughter? Holy crap! _A million questions flooded my mind at once, not the least of which was wondering if a wife was somehow attached to this daughter.

No, I may not have known Stephanie Morelli for very long, but I couldn't imagine her being involved with a married man. _Divorced perhaps?_

Ranger met his father's assessing stare with eyes that would have frozen a lesser man. Juan Carlos merely shrugged.

"You can't hide her forever," he said sagely. "From Cheryl—or us."

_Hide her? Was that a figurative or literal statement? Why in the world would a man need to hide his daughter from his family?_

Grandma Rosa began to spout in Spanish again, and Mrs. Manoso's hands fluttered nervously, in deference to the sudden tension.

"I'm sorry," she apologized weakly. "We're just so anxious to know her, Carlos."

Ranger tossed his napkin onto the table, and I thought for sure he would explode with anger. Instead, he sat there quietly for several minutes before answering her in Spanish, purposefully excluding me.

"Sé que estás, mamá. Pero no es el momento. Te dije que Cheryl es simplemente la hija de un conocido."3

My ears perked up at the mention of my name. God, it was _maddening_ not to be able to understand the conversation. What had started out as a somewhat bearable evening had turned into pure torture. Ranger had promised a quick in and out visit. If he didn't do something soon, I'd grab the car keys and leave without him!

"No seas tonto, mi nieto. Su orgullo le impide ver la verdad. Tú y esta mujer estaban destinados. Lo sé. Lo puedo sentir. No guarde su corazón de ella más de largo. Hazle saber que,"4 Ranger's grandmother chastised in a hoarse whisper.

"Enough!" he reproached in English. Standing, he jerked his head at me. "Get your coat. We're leaving."

* * *

1 "Julie? Yes, yes, I want to know more about my great-granddaughter."

2 "Mama that is private."

3 "I know you are, Mama. But now is not the time. I told you Cheryl is merely the daughter of an acquaintance."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

My nervous system practically vibrated from trying to restrain my emotions—frustration, anger, and a healthy amount of guilt. Stopping for dinner with Cheryl had been a huge tactical mistake. It'd only served to give my family false hope I was becoming domesticated like my siblings, and it'd given my father fuel to poke at me for not visiting more often. _Didn't he understand the reason I stayed away was because of their constant badgering of me to move home, find a girl, have a family and be like all of them?_

They knew _nothing _of my life since I'd left home other than what I'd chosen to share with them, which was pretty much the same cloak and dagger bullshit I'd given everyone else in my life. Why couldn't they understand I didn't _want _people to know about my life from the time I entered the Army until I finally got Rangeman up and running? Those years were filled with nothing but a black ugliness that at times still threatened to swallow me whole. Only sheer will power had kept me moving forward, and I wasn't about to go backward.

"Carlos, don't leave," my mother pled, coming around the table to grab my arm. "Let me get some more coffee."

There was no point in taking my frustration out on her. It wasn't my parent's fault I was such a misfit within our own family. My older brother Juan Eduardo had followed my father into the masonry business. He and his wife Gloria had five children already. My sisters were all the same—married, mothers and living within a ten-block radius of one another. If Stephanie thought the Burg was stifling, it had nothing on the little Cuban neighborhood in which I grew up.

Grasping her shoulders, I leaned in and kissed both her cheeks. "I'm not upset, Mama. Cheryl and I just need to get back to Trenton." I avoided Cheryl's gaze and reached out to shake my father's hand. "It was good to see you."

His unrelenting stare never eased as he clasped my hand and leaned in for a hug. "¿Cuándo usted dejará de funcionar, hijo?"5

_Never._

After a quick hug for my grandmother, I practically shoved Cheryl toward the door. The need to escape was overpowering. Cheryl looked more bewildered than angry, although I was sure that would change once we were alone in the car.

Alone.

Again.

For at least another hour.

God, I'd been crazy to take on this assignment. No, I'd been dazzled by dollars is what I'd been—so convinced I could use the money to start up a bonds business with Stephanie when I didn't even know if she wanted to do it yet or not. And now I'd be cooped up in the dark with a woman who'd already heard more about my personal life than I wanted her or anyone else to know—let alone the fact she was a shrink.

Shit.

"Thank you for the delicious meal and for having me in your home. It was a pleasure meeting you all," Cheryl offered awkwardly, well aware of my haste to leave.

"It was our pleasure," my mother assured her. She leaned in to give her a hug. "I have no doubt we will see you again."

"Soon," my father emphasized while shooting me another pointed look.

"I'll call next week," I promised and ushered Cheryl out the door and down the walkway to the Navigator as fast as I could. I'd like to think it was my way of protecting her from the unknowns of the dark, but I knew better. I was running again—just like my father had said.

"Adios!" my mother called out, waving frantically from the doorway.

"What is your hurry?" Cheryl hissed in my ear before I opened the door and practically shoved her into the vehicle.

Slamming the door, I marched around to the driver's side and climbed in. "Just living up to my promise to get us in and out of there."

"Bullshit," she accused quietly. "What in the hell just happened? I asked a simple question about your daughter and you lost it. Why are you so upset?"

"I'm _not _upset," I said through gritted teeth, pulling away from the curb. "It's simply not something I wish to discuss with anyone—"

"No, with _me._ You didn't want to answer your mother's question because I was there, right?"

_Why lie? _"That's right. It's none of your business."

I heard her short intake of breath and winced inwardly. _Bastard. You don't have to hurt her. Your past is not her fault._

Fumbling, I hurriedly added, "I merely meant—"

She held up her hand. "Never mind. You're right. It _is_ none of my business, and you know what? I've decided that _my_ business is none of yours. I don't care what kind of deal you've made with my father. It's finished as of right now." Her voice quivered with fury. "I neither want nor need your protection. Once you drop me off, there won't ever be a need for our paths to cross again. Got it?"

An unwelcome and rather surprising sense of panic skittered through me. I would've liked to think it had to do with my word to Hawk Sullivan that I'd protect his only daughter, or even the fact I stood to lose half a million dollars. But what unnerved me most was the idea of _not _crossing paths with the irritating psychiatrist. The way she'd invaded my system was like a virus.

Hardening my voice against that awkward realization, I said coolly, "Don't be foolish. You're giving up protection because you didn't get your own way and learn about my daughter? Give me a break! Do you even realize how childish you sound, princess?" I took my hand off the wheel to gesture at her. "You have _no _idea what you're up against with this stalker—"

She let out a longsuffering sigh and said in calm disgust, "Just be quiet, Ranger, will you? God knows you're at least good at _that_."

Turning her head, she dismissed me by staring out at the darkened landscape while I made my way back to the Jersey Turnpike.

_What the hell? _I couldn't remember the last time a woman had infuriated me like Dr. Cheryl Sullivan. _I _was the one who controlled the strings and called the shots in my life. People simply didn't tell me to be quiet.

Opening my mouth to blast her, I immediately closed it again. Discipline and training kicked in, reminding me to take her advice and be quiet. Right then I needed to think and to plan. However, when we got back to Trenton, I'd have plenty to say.

In the meantime, I needed to regain control.

* * *

4 "Don't be foolish, my grandson. Your pride prevents you from seeing the truth. You and this woman were destined. I know. I can feel it. Don't keep your heart from hers any longer. Let her know you."

5 "When will you stop running, son?"

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

Two hours, six burritos and a _whole_ lot of alcohol later, my female posse was out of control.

"I can't believe I'm even consring—consaring—shit—_thinking_ of doing this," Valerie complained for the fifteenth time in twenty minutes. "This isn't just a practical joke; it's illegal!"

Okay, maybe one of them was still trying to be in control, despite her inebriated state.

"Would you shut up already? It's not illegal to borrow your own property, Val," I pointed out exasperatedly, flapping my arms to try and stay warm in the cold, night air. "Albert told Joe he could borrow the trailer this weekend, and what belongs to Albert belongs to you, right?"

My sister tossed me a bleary-eyed, dirty look over her shoulder as she fumbled with the lock to the storage barn at her in-law's house. The fact that she was intoxicated wasn't helping. "I'm not talking about your dumb old trailer. I'm talking about stealing a friggin' cow, and you damn well know it. Now hold that flashhhlight steady, so I can see what I'm doing."

Ignoring her, I made a grab for the key.

"Here—let me open the lock. I was the one who got the key in the first place."

I'd been the only one sober enough to sneak quietly into Val's kitchen through her back door and steal every key the Kloughns owned from their junk drawer while Albert had been upstairs with the kids.

What had started as a joke at the restaurant had quickly turned into a full-scale covert operation. Between stops to raid both my closet and Connie's, (we were the only two without someone waiting at home to ask questions), we'd managed to find enough black clothing to dress all six of us, although 'dress' was a loosely used term. Poor Lula looked even more squished than usual in a pair of Connie's black spandex leggings, while Grandma Mazur swam in a pair of black jeans I'd relegated to the back of my closet. Wearing ski caps and grease paint, we looked like a group of prison rejects.

"Issss _my_ trailer. _I'll _unlock it," Val retorted belligerently. "I'm just grateful Albert's parents are visiting his sister in Schntd—Schenetch—damn, Sche—nec—ta—dy." She giggled. "Wow, guess I shouldn't have had that last margarita."

"Hurry up, will ya? It's freezing out here."

I longed for the warmth of my SUV where the others waited. Better yet, I longed for my bed at home. Only the memory of Terry mooing in my ear helped me to stand my ground.

Connie rolled down a window on the SUV. "Wasss the hold up? Let's go. It's nine o'clock already!"

_It was? _Jeez, no wonder I felt exhausted. Though my body had gotten somewhat accustomed to the Zofran I took for morning sickness, I still got tired frequently and especially at night.

"Don't prrsssure me," Val called back crossly, before muttering to me, "Man, she's as bossy now as she was back in high school."

I waved my free hand at Connie to silence her.

"Hold the light steady!" Val snapped.

"I am! Are you sure you don't want me to—?"

"Got it!" my sister interrupted victoriously—and loudly, making me thankful for the fact her in-laws lived on ten acres just outside of Trenton. Nosy neighbors weren't a worry, which was a good thing considering all the other fifty million things we needed to worry about.

Like getting arrested.

_Stop, Stephanie. You committed to this mission both mentally and verbally. You're going to shut Terry Gilman up once and for all._

Grunting, Val stumbled a couple of times, but finally managed to roll back the heavy door to the hangar-like building, revealing a large horse trailer. Standing side-by-side, we stared at it in silent wonder.

"It's huge," she stated the obvious. "Bigger than a bread box at least." She let out an amused giggle and then eyed me curiously. "Think you're going to be able to navigate the roads with that big ole monster behind you?"

_Navigate? _Shoot, first we had to figure out how to hook the doggone thing up to my vehicle.

Val sensed my unease.

"Did you even check to see if you have a trailer hitch on your car?" she asked, panting from the effort of opening the door to the storage building. She'd already sweated clear through her borrowed black sweatshirt.

_No._

"Of course I did, dummy," I sniffed indelicately. Casting a surreptitious glance over my shoulder, I strained in the dark to try and see the back of my vehicle. _DID I have a hitch?_

The others piled out and half-walked, half-stumbled over to where we were standing. Totally schnockered, Grandma Mazur wobbled unsteadily in a pair of Connie's black snow boots that were three sizes too big for her. I'd voted to take her home after dinner, but Val had insisted our mother would kill us if we didn't sober her up a bit first.

Well, nothing would sober _any_ of us up faster than a trip to jail.

_God, what had I been thinking agreeing to this scheme? _The reality of what we'd agreed to do was fast sinking in, as was the fact I was married to a cop, pregnant with twins _AND_ only recently out of the hospital.

Joe wouldn't be the only one having a cow if he knew my plans.

I hated the thought of doing something behind his back, particularly since we'd worked so hard to obtain honesty and trust over the past several weeks, but I simply couldn't forget the image of my vandalized vehicle as well as Gilman's taunting insults. No way could I allow an opportunity to teach her a lesson pass me by, because the only way to take care of a bully like Terry was to outwit her.

And that's exactly what I was going to do.

Despite being under the influence, Val was no dumbbell. She knew I had no idea how to hook up a trailer.

"Does anyone here know how to rig this thing?" she asked, scanning the group. "'Caussse it's a verrry important job, you know."

They all laughed, while I rolled my eyes.

"Shit, it can't be that difficult," Lula declared importantly, stepping forward to inspect the drawbar for the trailer. "You jussssttt have to snap that doohooker there over the little ball jobby thing on your car, right?"

"_If _she has a ball jobby," Val sneered. She rolled her eyes melodramatically.

"She does," Mary Lou announced calmly, ever the voice of reason. "I checked before we left the restaurant."

"Lula was a hooker. She ought to know all about ball jobbies," Connie said seriously.

This time we all laughed, except for Grandma. She merely stood there in a drunken stupor.

_Sigh._

"Well, _schomeone _needs to hook the two parts together," Val spoke carefully. "And it _won't _be me, 'cause I'm not surrree I'm thinking this is a such good idea. I'll let you know."

"_You _were the one complaining you never got to have any fun at dinner last night," I reminded her. "Well, here's your chance."

"I meant dinner, drinking and dancing—not pliffer—puller—shit—pilfering livestock from the local meat processing plant!"

"Girl, you need to calm down. We're not plufferin' anythin'," Lula fumbled. "We're only borrowin' the cow."

"That's right," I breathed, still trying to convince myself of the same logic. "Once the thing has done its duty all over Gilman's yard, it'll head on home."

"And what if _she's_ home."

"She ain't gonna be home—not yet," Lula reasoned. "She's like a high priced 'ho. She gonna make that fool pay even more good money before she gets busy with him."

Mary Lou was practically bursting with frustration. "We don't have time for this chatty chit."

"You mean chit chat?" I asked dryly.

"Whatever! Are you in or out, Val?"

"I'm jussss saying there are other ways—"

"There _is_ no other way when it comes to Gilman," Connie objected. "God, Val, why can't you accept she is just a consumme—" She hiccupped. "You know, a really big bitch and a bully. She needs to be stopped in a manner she'll understand."

"But—"

Connie's eyes gleamed in the shadow of the headlight beams.

"Jussss think about the time Terry took your lipstick in tenth grade and wrote all over the boy's bathroom mirror that you screwed Howie _Booger_witz," she suggested, carefully enunciating the last name. "That'll stop you from worrying about anything."

Lula snorted. "Who the hell is Howie Boogerwitz?"

Grandma spoke for the first time in minutes.

"Estelle Boogerwitz's grandson," she supplied helpfully with a silly grin. "He wassss short and homely and ate boogers like candy. He inhurted—oops—" She giggled. "I mean _inherited_ that trait from his father Moses. All the Boogerwitz boys were snot scarfers."

"Don't you remember? He had lice about every other month," Connie added helpfully.

"His name was Howie _BOGOR_witz, and I couldn't get a date until senior year when Schteve transferred in because of that bitch," Val growled. Her fists were clenched into two tight balls on either side of her.

"See? Here's your chance for revenge."

Val's face turned speculative. "I've always hated her for how she embarrassed me like that."

"Make up your mind, Val," I urged.

She met my gaze in the dim glow cast from the headlights. "Get in the car. Back it up here, and let's ssssee what Mary Lou and I can figure out."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"So how's Steph?" Eddie asked lazily, his upper body resting against the driver's door. He took a slurp from an oversized soft drink and studied me closely.

It was nine twenty, and the two of us were sitting in a Taco Bell parking lot, while I practically inhaled a six-pack of tacos. Having experienced our first of many calls before we'd even left the precinct, we were only just then able to get dinner. Drunk drivers, bar fights, domestic violence calls—the whole city of Trenton had gone stir crazy after being cooped up with family for the holiday and a major snowstorm.

Quickly swallowing a mouthful, I acknowledged, "Better. Glad to be home."

Eddie grunted. "I'll bet. She probably gave those nurses at Helene Fuld a run for their money."

"And then some," I agreed wryly.

"You two have a good Thanksgiving?"

The question was innocent enough, but I wasn't stupid. We'd been too busy earlier for Eddie to pump me for details. Now I was fair game.

"It didn't totally suck," I offered, leaving it at that.

"That's not saying much."

"Nope—it isn't."

My reputation around the precinct was legendary for keeping my personal life private. It's why that business with Tony and Paul had rankled so badly, as did my two previous run-ins with the TPD. Even through all of Stephanie's escapades the past three years and the inevitable heckling I'd received from fellow cops, I'd kept my mouth shut, preferring to take the high road as much as possible. As far as I was concerned, cops were like a bunch of old women with their gossipy ways—worse than the Burg.

But this was Eddie asking the question, and he'd certainly proven to be a good friend to both Stephanie and me over the years. Letting out a short breath of frustration, I shoved the empty taco tray aside.

"We went to my mom's in the afternoon. Paul was drunk and a complete jackass. I'm not sure, but I think he might be using. I had to get out of there before I killed him."

"Using drugs?" Eddie clarified, careful to leave any condemnation out of his voice.

"Maybe. He sure as hell wasn't acting like himself. We ended up at Frank and Helen's. It was better there."

"Stampler's sister is staying with them, right?"

I glanced at him suspiciously. "Yeah."

Eddie held up his hands in mock surrender. "No judgment—just asking. How's she doing?"

"Frank and Helen have filed to serve as permanent foster care parents until she turns eighteen this spring."

"I always had a lot of respect for them," Eddie nodded. He waited a minute. "And you? How are you doing?"

I opened my mouth to give him one of my usual smartass responses only to find him gazing at me with a sincere expression of concern.

"I'm all right."

"Are you?" he pressed. "You've been under a hell of a lot of pressure for three months now. First the Kennard affair, then that mess with Stampler, Meachum and your brothers—not to mention a wedding and the realization you're going to become a father."

_Plus a paternity test, the recognition my entire family lied to me for twenty-seven years, the bombshell that I stabbed my own father as a child, one brother in the hospital, the other self-destructing, the near death of my wife two weeks ago and an impending confrontation with her former lover who wants to go into business with her._

But who was keeping track.

I decided to cut to the chase. "What do you want to know, Gazarra?"

"Nothing," he assured me sincerely. "I care about you Joe—you _and _Stephanie. Being a newlywed and learning how to live with someone is tough enough. Add in all the stress you're under, and it's even more difficult. I just want to make sure you two are doing okay."

A small smile played about my lips as I thought about Stephanie and our two babies she was carrying. Despite the fact she'd lied to me about the extent of her relationship with Manoso and the agonizing wait we'd endured for the paternity results, there was no question we were stronger as a result of what'd happened. The support she'd showed me, particularly of late, was nothing short of amazing.

I'd never been more in love with her.

"We're good."

"Yeah?"

"Really good," I confirmed, the smile deepening.

Eddie relaxed even further. "I'm glad. I was so damned happy to see you two finally stop dancing around one another and tie the knot. The whole friggin' world could see you were made for one another."

_We were too. _

"You excited about becoming a father?"

I stiffened slightly. "Of course."

"Scared?"

"Sure. Who wouldn't be? One newborn is tricky enough, but two?"

"You'll do fine. Stephanie is going to make an amazing mother."

My smile was back. "I know. I just wish I could convince her of that."

"Give her time. Shirley was insecure too with our first." He continued to study me in the glow from the dashboard lights. "You're going to be a great father too, Joe."

"So everyone tells me," I grunted.

My own insecurities threatened to choke me. Images of my father and brothers filled my mind, and I willed them away.

Eddie sensed my dilemma. "You're nothing like them, Joe. You and I both know that. Everyone does. Don't let your past define you."

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

Sensing he needed to stop pushing, he grabbed my empty tray and shoved it into one of the paper bags. "So what's Steph up to tonight?"

A short bark of laughter escaped. "I'm scared to think."

Eddie paused with his hand in the air. "Uh-oh, what's she up to now?"

"She's out with Lula, Connie, Mary Lou, Val and her grandmother."

"Dear God—and you let her?" he asked incredulously.

I looked at him like he was insane. "Does anyone _let _Stephanie do anything?"

"True. But—hell—what are they doing?"

"Having a quiet dinner," I assured us both. "She's probably home and in bed by now. The morning sickness medicine she takes makes her pretty tired at night."

"Oh—well then you've got nothing to worry about."

"Right," I agreed, putting a fist against my gut.

Now if only I could convince my stomach of that fact.

**Stephanie's POV**

"Watch it!"

Mary Lou made a wild grab for the dashboard in front of her.

The SUV and the trailer swung wildly back and forth as I maneuvered through potholes on the snow-covered, dimly lit, dirt road leading down to the meat packing plant by the river. While it was evident a plow had been down the road, the leftover snow had mixed with the dirt to create a slippery, muddy mess. I could only imagine what the condition of my vehicle would be when this little adventure was finished.

Worse yet, I could only imagine what condition my babies were in from all the ruts and bumps—probably like human bumper cars.

"What'cha tryin' to do, Steph, kill us?" Val mused when I hit another groove, and she nearly slammed her head on the ceiling of the car. She looked like Bob the way half her body slumped through the gap between the two front seats.

"I can't help it. It's like trying to drive with an elephant on my butt," I retorted exasperatedly.

"Who you callin' an elephant?" Lula sassed from way back in the SUV. "You know, some of us _like _having a little bump to our rump."

Connie snorted loudly. "Mmmm hmmmm…and I'll bet you bumped plenty of rumps in your day."

"That's nasty, Connie," I chastised.

_But funny._

"Well, Steph's rump won't be skinny much longer now," Val noted with drunken seriousness. "Give her another couple of months, and _she'll _be big as an elephant!" She let out a huge belch. "God, I can't wait."

I managed to bite my tongue, but my sister needed to watch it. In my current hormonal state, it wouldn't take much for me to drop a cow off at her place too.

"Soon you'll be driving with an elephant _and _a cow on your butt," Connie quipped again, and we all hooted.

My fingers were numb from gripping the steering wheel, but I was having the best time I'd had since finding out I was pregnant. For the first time in weeks and especially since my experience with Bulldog, I felt like the old Stephanie again—bold, courageous and ready to kick ass. I also felt ready to take a nap, but I was trying _not_ to dwell on that.

Forcing myself to push my perpetual sleepiness aside, I wondered aloud, "You know, we barely managed to get the trailer hitched onto the car. How the hell are we supposed to get a cow _into_ the trailer?"

"How now brown cow?" Grandma Mazur burst out randomly and then cackled merrily at her own joke. She'd been acting strangely ever since we left Albert's parent's house.

While the others seemed to be maintaining a pretty consistent level of total inebriation, I had the suspicious feeling she was getting _drunker_ somehow. And with all the jostling we were doing on that road, I began to worry about the interior of the SUV. If any one of them puked, I would too. Zofran or not, my stomach wasn't up to the putrid smell of vomit.

_Oh crap—and what about cow manure? _I hadn't even thought of that little detail when I'd agreed to our little caper.

I was beginning to wonder if Terry Gilman was even worth all the effort. This method of revenge was a knee-jerk, Lula kind of a response—not mine._ Was it possible hormones had caused me to lose my sanity? _

No! I was the only sane one in the group at the moment, and every fiber of my being was saying, "Get Terry!"

"There's the entrance," Mary Lou waved excitedly as if she'd just discovered the North Pole. I was pretty sure this was the most fun she'd had since the two of us staked out Joe's place a few years back.

The half-block sized meatpacking plant came into view. It was made up of holding pens, loading docks and, of course, the actual slaughterhouse and packaging facility. I'd forgotten just how large the place was even though it'd been only last year that Lula and I inadvertently started a stampede when we tried to apprehend a skip.

Slowly swinging into the parking lot, I scanned the area for security cameras and parked as close to the exit as possible.

"We're going to have to park out here and bring the cow to the trailer, otherwise they might catch us on camera," I murmured to no one in particular.

Connie overheard and asked in an exaggerated, drunken whisper, "You think they even have anyone running security tonight seeing as it's a holiday weekend and all?"

"I don't know, but we're not taking any chances."

"Houston, we have a bigger problem than security," Mary Lou sniggered. She looked at me with an exaggerated pout and raised her palms up. "How are we supposed to lead the cow to the trailer? We didn't bring any rope."

"Crap," I moaned, thumping my head against the steering wheel. "Maybe there's some in the trailer."

"And what good would it do if you _had_ rope, Annie Oakley—you gonna lasso the poor thing?" Val jibed.

Mary Lou pretended to swing a lasso over her head. "Bet I could ride a cow. No different than riding a—"

"Mare!"

Everyone burst out laughing.

"Ah, shit—that's hilarious!" Lula gasped, trying to catch her breath.

"How do the workers here get the cows into the slaughterhouse?" Connie wondered, trying hard to concentrate in her bleary-eyed state. "Think they drag 'em by their necks?"

"No, they trick them up the ramp of death with corn," I answered knowingly. "Remember, Lula?"

"No," she retorted with attitude. "I don't remember nothin' 'cept for a sea of beef comin' at me."

Val threw her hands up in the air theatrically.

"_Corn!_" she cried. "Of course! How dumb can we be? How could we _possibly_ have forgotten not only rope but corn too? What kind of half-assed cattle rustlers are we?"

"The kind that like margaritas," Mary Lou noted. She smacked her lips. "Man, I wish I had one right now."

Val looked liked she'd just been handed instructions to read in Japanese. "Well, what _are_ we going to use to entice those buggers—Chicklets? 'Causssse that's about all I have in my purse."

Grandma perked up from her foggy slump. "How about I sing?"

"Sing?" Connie echoed doubtfully. "Sing what?"

Grandma opened her mouth and bellowed off-key:

"Owls woo-woo,

Others sigh,

Doves coo-coo,

Ah, but I;

I could go on singing until the cows come home."

She sounded like Ethel Merman on helium.

"Stop!" I begged, covering my ears. Thank God we were sitting in the parking lot, otherwise surely that would've sent me flying off the side of the road.

Connie's mouth hung open. "What—in—God's—name—was—that?"

Lula was laughing so hard; she shook the entire vehicle with her bouncing. "Omigod—stop! Stop!" she wheezed. "I'm gonna pee my pants if you all don't quit."

"Thasss it!" Mary Lou stabbed the air. "We could pee. All animals like to follow the scent of urine, right? Hell, I could pee enough right now to lead an entire herd to Texas."

"Don't even get me to thinking about pee," I warned, subconsciously crossing my legs. My pregnant bladder was fast reaching its capacity, and I hadn't even been drinking alcohol.

"You know? I been thinkin'," ever-practical Connie mused, making sure to enunciate very clearly. "How we _lure_ the cow is the least of our problems."

"Wasss the problem then?" Mary Lou asked.

"Did anyone even check to see if the trailer has one of them little ramp thingies? 'Causssse if it doesn't, we're screwed. There's no way the four of us can lift a two thousand pound cow up onto that trailer bed."

"The four of us?" Val echoed doubtfully.

Connie pointed to each of them in exaggeration.

"You—me—Mary Lou—and Lula." She shook her head slowly, so as not to get dizzy. "Grandma's no help, 'cept for singing off-key. And Officer Hottie will kill us if anything happens to hisssss Cupcake and the babies. She's going to have to stand back and watch whatever it is we do."

She leaned forward and tapped me on the shoulder. "By the way, have I ever told you that your man is the sexiest thing I've ever laid eyes on?"

We all sighed collectively.

"Oh yeah," Mary Lou moaned. "Those eyes."

"That hair," Val agreed.

Lula got right to the point. "That ass."

"I could just sink my teeth right into it," Grandma chimed in.

_Ewwwww_

The homage to my husband stopped cold at the thought of my grandmother's false teeth clinging to Morelli's butt.

"You know, Connie's right," Mary Lou acknowledged, trying to get us back on track. "She's sooooo smart."

"Why thank you, Mary Lou," Connie said regally, trying not to let her head loll to the side. "But what isss it again I'm smart about?"

"If the trailer has a ramp," Val reminded her. "I know I didn't check."

A chorus of 'I didn't either' bounced through the SUV.

Letting out a huge huff of frustration, I began to fret, "What do you think, Mare? Should we just turn around and go home? What about security? Do you think the holding pens have alarm sensors on them? Can we get past them?"

"Do I look like my name is MacGyver?" she barked anxiously. "What the hell do I know about any of this?"

"It kills me to let Gilman win, but maybe we should cut our losses and give up."

Mary Lou looked at me as if I'd just sprouted wings. "Give up! When have you _ever _given up? Don't tell me getting married and having a couple of kids has made you lose your guts_. _The old Stephanie Plum would've already kicked Gilman's ass to kingdom come."

She was right. I was married and pregnant—_not_ dead.

I nearly growled my response. "Hell no—let's go!"

Moments later we piled out of the vehicle, and immediately my nostrils were assaulted by the smell of cow manure.

"Oh shit!" I gasped and quickly covered my nose with the sleeve the black Carhartt jacket I'd borrowed from Joe. The burrito I'd eaten earlier shifted dangerously close to the base of my throat.

"Wassss the matter?" Mary Lou demanded, stumbling around the side of the car to see me hunched over at the waist. Noticing my position and my face, she blanched. "Crap! I didn't even think about the smell. Can you do this?"

"Breathe through your mouth!" Val instructed sharply. "Someone get her a scarf to put over her face."

Lula eyed me nervously. "Damn, girlie, I don't need to be seein' no burrito explosion."

"If she blows, we all blow," Val agreed, clutching her stomach. No doubt the alcohol and food they'd all eaten was doing a Mexican Hat Dance of its own in their bellies.

"I'm fine," I said determinedly, my voice weak and muffled through the sleeve of the coat. _Nothing _was stopping me from seeing Terry Gilman get what was coming to her.

Connie handed me her black ski cap, and I quickly shoved it over my mouth and nose. Closing my eyes, I willed my breathing to regulate until my stomach calmed down. Finally I nodded, still clutching the hat over the lower half of my face.

"Let's go."

The packing plant had apparently stopped operations for the holiday for there were probably a hundred cows milling about waiting for Monday's slaughter. Val kept a firm grasp on one of Grandma Mazur's arms as we made our way across the parking lot, so she wouldn't slip and fall in the slushy snow and mud. She seemed more than a little unsteady on her feet.

At the fence, we all stopped and stared. Finally Connie voiced what we were all thinking.

"Sure are a lot of cows."

Lula let out a low whistle. "I forgot how big them suckers are," she marveled. "I damned near got killed last year, you know."

"Well, no one's getting killed tonight," I spoke with more confidence than I felt. There was a very real chance my husband and mother would kill me before daybreak. "Does anyone see the gate handle?"

Val pulled the flashlight we'd used to attach the trailer out of her sweatshirt pocket and immediately shined it smack dab in Connie's eye, causing her to stumble and fall into the slushy mixture.

"Watch it, Kloughn!" Connie protested disgustedly.

Mary Lou tried to help Connie to her feet and ended up right next to her on the ground. The two of them began to laugh uncontrollably. Meanwhile, Val weaved back and forth along the fencing, playing the light along the rails until she found the main gate.

"Why issss not even padlocked," she announced in drunken surprise.

I smiled grimly to myself. _Definitely under security—probably both cameras AND guards._

"We need to do this fast, girls," I ordered.

"I hate to say it, but you gals are right. We need some sort of entuschment—entisch—hell, you know a trick to get the cow to follow us," Val commanded. "The dumb thing isn't going to go willingly."

"I could look around for some leftover corn," Connie offered.

"How about this?" Grandma Mazur suggested, who'd been suspiciously quiet until now. She pulled out from behind her back the nearly empty bottle of Jose Cuervo she'd pilfered from my parent's house.

Good grief—no wonder she'd acting strangely. She was even more soused than she'd been when leaving the restaurant!

"Perfect," Lula hooted, leaning against the fence to keep her balance.

I glared at Lula. "Did you know she's been drinking all this time?"

"Well, of course I did," she retorted as if I were a complete idiot. "We've been shhharrring shhots in the back seat all night, haven't we?"

_Good Lord! _It's a wonder the old woman wasn't lying comatose on the ground. Val and I were as good as dead to our mother.

Val must've thought the same thing. "GRANDMA, ARE YOU OKAY?" she asked loudly, waving a hand exaggeratedly in front of her face.

"I'm fine," she giggled. She held up the bottle. "And ready to sshhhare what's left of a good time with a cow."

"Somehow that doesn't sound quite right," Mary Lou said under her breath.

"At least we're not talking ducks," Connie noted dryly. "You know, fassschination with animals does run in Stephanie's family."

"We can't give tequila to a cow!" Val had enough sobriety to sputter in outrage. "PETA will put our asses in prison for sure."

"Quit being such nervous Nelly, Val," Grandma slurred. "We aren't going to sshhove it down the cow's throat. We're jusss going to rub its lips with it."

_Huh? _

"What makes you think cows like tequila?" Mary Lou asked bewilderedly.

"Who _doesn't_ like tequila?" Grandma retorted, and then her face softened into a goofy grin. "I haven't had thisss much fun in years."

_Yeesh. _I wasn't sure who was going to kill me first for this little escapade—Joe or my mother.

"We're _not _giving a cow alcohol," I stated firmly.

"What _are _we going to do then?" Connie wondered impatiently.

"Someone needs to jussss get in there and try to coax one of them babies out of the pen," Mary Lou proclaimed with her hands on her hips.

Lula's chin jutted out in challenge. "And jusss who would that _someone _be?"

Mary Lou eyed her speculatively. "Since you have experience—"

"Huh-uh—no way," Lula protested. "I ain't goin' in there. I'm still scarred from last year. _You_ don't know what it's like havin' a hundred cows mowin' you down."

"Wouldn't that be 'mooing' you down?" Connie asked, and the rest of us burst into laughter again.

Lula ignored her. "Theeesse here boots are genuine Serchio—I mean—Sergio Rosssssi crocodile ridin' boots. I can't take them into that muddy mess."

We all looked down at the low-heeled boots already covered to the ankles in mud. At least I hoped it was mud. The thought of it being something else made my stomach roll again.

Seeing the damage, Lula cursed and frantically began to swipe a boot against the fence railing.

Connie rolled her eyes and then thought better of it when she almost tipped over. "Only _you _would wear four hundred dollar boots to steal a cow, Lula."

"Well _excusssse_ me," she sniffed. "I didn't exactly know cow stealing was on the agenda for the night when I suggested this little sorry—oops—I mean soiree."

"We're wasting time!" I complained. "Val, you go in."

"Me?" she recoiled. "This wasn't _my _idea to begin with. Send Connie."

"Oh, gee, thanks," Connie snorted beside her.

"For God's sake—I'll do it," Mary Lou groused, grabbing the flashlight from Val's hand. "Open the friggin' gate."

Suddenly I noticed a voice missing from the fray.

_Uh-oh. _

I did a quick headcount. "Where's Grandma?"

_MOO! _The low, bawling of a cow came from right behind us.

Our heads swung around, and jaws dropped.

Grandma Mazur had slipped inside the pen and was trying to pour tequila all over one of the cow's lips.

My burrito AND my heart were now in the back of my throat.

"Grandma, no!" Val hissed. "Get out of there—_now._"

"Hold ssshhhtill, you stupid bovine!" Grandma reproached the cow, ignoring the rest of us.

"Get in there!" I seethed at Val. "She'll kill herself."

"Come on, Edna," Mary Lou wheedled. "Time to call it a day. Slowly back your way toward us."

"I got one!" Grandma hooted victoriously. You would've thought she'd shot a deer. "And she likes the tequila. Get the gate ready."

_MOO!_

"Oh, look—her friend wants to know what I have here too," Grandma garbled happily.

_I wondered how much of this she'd even remember in the morning._

"Val—" I pleaded, already envisioning our sparsely attended funerals.

_MOO! MOO! _

"How many cows you need, Schtephanie, cause theeesssse girls are getting antsy." Her voice turned agitated. "Hey now, honey—don't go getting greedy."

"What is she _doing_" I wondered helplessly. "Grandma, get out of there!"

"She's like the Pied Piper of the Barnyard," Lula marveled.

_MOO! MOO! MOO!_

More and more cows became aware of her presence and moved closer to investigate. Slowly but surely the peaceful movement in the pen grew more disjointed and dangerous.

"Hey! Hey now—quick bumping me," Grandma huffed.

"They're out of control," Mary Lou observed shortly, making more of an effort to sober up and failing miserably. "Steph, get the trailer ready. Come on girls—let's move!"

The cows began to pick up speed as they roamed about the holding pen, clearly aware that something had disturbed their environment and trying to find the source. Poor Grandma was penned in between four or five of the huge beasts.

_Oh God! What if they trampled her to death? _I could see the headline now: Former Bounty Hunter's Crazy Grandmother Killed By Drunken Cow.

"Don't move, Edna. We're comin'!" Lula directed.

I needed to get the trailer ready, but my feet were glued to the ground.

"It's so dark in here, I can't tell what these cows are doing," Grandma marveled. "But it's schlippery—oops—I mean slippery as heck. Be careful. I can't seem to move this feller here toward the gate."

"Connie, man the entry," Mary Lou commanded brusquely. "Val, you and Lula circle around the outside of the pen. Let's see if we can't work our way through to get Edna."

Lula, Val and Mary Lou slid through the fence, making sure to leave the gate fastened behind them. No sense in repeating last year's fiasco.

_MOO! MOO! MOO! MOO!_

All of the cows were moving now. With no place to run outside of the pen, they began to flow in clockwise motion around my grandmother.

One of them brushed past her, and she almost fell.

"Grandma!" I screamed, pulling the ski cap away from my face. To hell with security and my stomach. "Are you all right?"

"I losthth mah tthhh," she mumbled dazedly.

That sounded like more than just being drunk.

"Val—Mary Lou—I think she's had a stroke!"

"No, I think ssshhhe's saying she lost her teeth," Connie supplied helpfully from her position at the gate.

"Don't move, Grandma," I hollered, holding my hand over my nauseous stomach. "I'm calling for help."

_Crap, my phone was in the car._

_MOO! _

"I'm all rihth. Jsth neeth my tthh."

I hated that my first instinct was to call Ranger and the guys at Rangeman. Old habits died hard, and quite honestly I was scared to death to face Joe or my mother right then.

"I just need to get my phone!"

"I have a phone," a voice said menacingly from behind me. "Along with a gun, and I'm about to use both right now. Just what the hell do you women think you're doing?"

Whipping around, I about fell over.

Butch Goodey, the FTA Lula and I had been after when we started the stampede last year, stood there with one hand waving a gun wildly at my chest while the other clutched a cell phone. All six feet, six inches and three hundred pounds of him looked ready to rumble.

"Butch!" I cried, so thankful to see another sober human being I didn't care that it was one of my former lecherous skips, even though he _had _been arrested for exposing himself to six different women in two days.

His mouth dropped open in shock.

"Stephanie Plum?"

I gave him a little finger wave and thrust the ski cap back over my nose.

"Hello. Technically, it's Morelli now, but who's keeping score?" I responded in a muffled voice. Of course, the way things were going it could very well be Plum again by morning.

I let out a nervous giggle. "How are you, Butch? Keeping your pants zipped, I hope."

His eyes narrowed and the hand holding the gun grew steadier. "You bitch. You tried to taser me. You pepper-sprayed me and had that scary Zoro-like dude put me in cuffs. Thanks to you I spent six weeks in jail. Why I ought to shoot you right now and make the world a safer place. What're you doing here? What's with the ski cap?"

_MOO!_

_How to answer? _A million thoughts short-circuited my brain, but I couldn't think of a single lie. Aargh! _What had happened to me? I used to be the Queen of Lies!_

"Borrowing a cow?" I blurted hopefully.

"What the—? Borrowing a cow!"

"Right. See—"

_MOO!_

"Think that reunion of yours could wait a minute?" Mary Lou shouted sarcastically. Her arms flailed about as she staggered through the herd toward Grandma. "Edna, can you hear me?"

"Of corthht I cnn hear you," Grandma mumbled. "I justhth cantt takk."

"Butch, you have to help us," I beseeched him. "My elderly grandmother is trapped out there. She may be hurt."

His expression quickly went from suspicion to fear. "She's out there? With the cows?"

"Yes, along with my sister and two of my best friends. Please hurry!"

He lowered the gun. "I'm going to have to call the plant manager. I could lose my job over this."

"Wait—I thought you worked with the cows?"

"Not since I got promoted to weekend security six months ago."

"Security? Then it's your job to help me. My grandmother could fall and break a hip out there."

He hitched his pants up like a cowboy wannabee. "Shit, I'd better call an ambulance too then. The owner of this place won't want a lawsuit."

"No! No! NO! You need to go out there NOW and get my grandmother before she's trampled to death."

"Me?"

For all of his size and girth, the man had about as much intelligence as a box of rocks.

"Yes, you!"

"But I might get hurt."

_Who was he trying to kid? _The idiot was as big as one of the cows!

"Goodey, get your ass out here before I have to come over there and hurt you!" Lula shouted from the pen.

Butch peered over my shoulder and into the darkened pen.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Lula."

"Lula? Who the hell's Lu—" His face twisted into ugly disgust. "Is that the fat chick who started the stampede—the one who practically crushed me outside my own house?"

Lula was clearly insulted. "Issss the full-bodied woman whoooss going to squash you again, pecker boy, if you don't get out here and help us!"

_MOO! MOO! MOO!_

"Steph" Val whined plaintively. "Do something!"

"Why you got that cap over your face?" Butch was seemingly oblivious to the seriousness of the situation.

"A few more seconds and you're about to find out," I promised weakly. My stomach was roiling something fierce. "Butch—concentrate—please help us!" I begged.

The giant stared me down for roughly three more seconds before plowing past me like a bull in a china shop. Unhinging the gate, he plunged into the holding pen and a sea of meat. It was like watching a pinball game with a wrecking ball the way he bounced his way off the cows to the center of the ring. In one smooth move, he lifted Grandma Mazur and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"My tttththth!" she wailed, arms reaching desperately for the ground.

"Get out of here!" Butch hollered to the others, who wasted no time in obeying the command.

Lula, Val and Mary Lou bolted for the nearest fences and hauled themselves over the railings, which was no easy feat for Lula. She landed with a huge 'Oomph' in the middle of the mud.

"Open the gate!" my former skip instructed brusquely.

Connie opened it far enough for him to slide through and then quickly shut the bar again. Meanwhile, Butch set Grandma down gently next to me, and I threw my arms around her frail, filthy frame.

"Are you okay?" I asked breathlessly, running one hand up and down her mud-spattered arm.

Val was beside me in an instant and enveloped Grandma's shoulders. "Grandma—thank God!"

Grandma shrugged out of both our grasps. "Immm fine, but my ththth."

I faced Butch as the others approached. They were covered head to toe in mud and cow manure, causing me to press the ski cap more tightly to my face.

"Thank you," I said to Butch. My voice was muffled but sincere. "You may have just saved her life."

"And ours," Val muttered under her breath.

"No shit," I agreed fervently.

Now that tragedy had been averted, I was very conscious of the fact we were in deep moo-doo.

I gave Butch another finger wave. "Well, this has been nice and all, but we'll just be on our way."

He shook his head. "Not so fast. What's this malarkey about borrowing a cow?"

"Did I say that?" I asked dubiously.

Clearly he wasn't buying it.

"I ought to call the cops and have you all arrested." He stabbed a finger in Lula's direction. "And _you—_you stay away from me."

Lula bared her teeth and gave a Ranger-like growl, and he took a step backward.

"Calling the cops really isn't necessary," I responded earnestly, thinking of Joe. "We seriously were only going to borrow the thing for a couple of hours."

"For what?"

Now that the excitement was over, my body made its fatigue known.

"You wouldn't understand," I answered wearily.

"We need it to sssseek revenge on some bitch who called Stephanie a cow," Lula supplied quickly. The drama of the past few minutes had done nothing to eliminate any of their intoxication.

Butch's eyebrows shot up as he scanned my still thin frame. "Who'd do that? You ain't no cow. You're a real babe." He reached for the zipper of his work pants. "In fact, I've got something I could show you—"

"No!" we all cried in unison, except for Grandma, who was licking the lips on her now sunken face.

"All right, but what are you going to do with the cow? We have a lot of respect for these animals here at the plant, you know."

"Sure they do. Right up until they make hamburger out of them," Val muttered to me under her breath. I had a pretty good feeling the Kloughn family would be going vegetarian after tonight.

"So who called you a bitch?" Butch persisted with his interrogation.

"Terry Gilman. Know her?" I asked doubtfully.

What came next surprised me.

"Hell yeah, I know her," he exploded. "Been trying for a year to get that woman to go out with me and see my goods. She's the reason I bought the sex enhancement drug that got me in trouble."

I was stunned. "How in the world do you know Terry?"

"Met her at the bar I worked at last year as a bouncer. She used to come in all the time with her friends. Every time I'd ask her for a date, but she said I was too fat to hang on to a boner, which wasn't true. I decided to buy some Viagra and see if it would make a difference with her. Instead, I had a hard-on for thirty-two hours, and Gilman _still _turned me down."

Connie rolled her eyes. "Pleassse—that's about as stupid of an excuuussse as I've heard." She thrust her thumb dramatically into her chest. "And believe me, I've heard A LOT in the bonds business."

Butch held his arms out wide. "Seriously. It made me crazy. I was ready to hump anything with legs. That's why I was ready to expose myself to all those women. I was desperate!"

"And now?" I asked pointedly. "You just solicited me, you know."

He ducked his head. "Well, I'm not stupid. When else am I going to get six gorgeous women in one place at the same time again."

I took a step toward my vehicle. "We _really _need to be going—"

"What were you going to do with the cow?" Butch asked, unwilling to drop the subject.

"Deposit it on Gilman's front yard," I admitted sheepishly. "It seemed like a good idea over a batch of margaritas—even if mine _was _a virgin."

Butch looked contemplative. "Just one cow?"

Mary Lou perked up, sensing his interest. "Thasss right—one cow, and we'll return it before sunlight tomorrow morning. You have my word." She zipped her lips exaggeratedly. "Girl scout's honor."

I barely contained a snort. My best friend was a lot of things—but a girl scout was _not _one of them. What she _was _though was a hell of a liar. No way were we bringing that cow back.

Butch jerked his thumb toward the horse trailer. "You know what you're doing with that thing?"

_No!_

"Sssure she does," Lula boasted. "Got us here, didn't she?"

"Wouldn't it feel good to get back at the girl who caused you to spend six weeks in jail?" Connie pressed.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth. "It would. It really would." Snapping out of his reverie, he shook his head. "But it's out of the question. I could lose my job, and I can't afford to do that with my arrest record."

"You could come with us!" Connie blurted. "To make sure nothing happens. You could drive the trailer and help us with the cow." She cast a glance around our group triumphantly as if we were supposed to applaud her intelligence.

Instead, Mary Lou and I exchanged incredulous glances. This was _not _the plan.

"Nah—I couldn't do that," Butch protested half-heartedly. "Who'd guard the plant?"

"You've got security cameras, don't you?" Connie persisted.

"Shit, I do." He seemed to have just remembered everything up until then had been captured on tape.

"You need to erassse tonight's visit," Mary Lou warned him. "None of us needs trouble."

"Be quiet and let me think!" he ordered, pacing in a small circle next to us. "So we'd just transport the cow, tie it up in the yard and then you'd bring it back later, right?"

He was weakening, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Part of me just wanted to bag the whole revenge deal and go home to bed. My babies and I were pooped. Plus, I still had to explain to my mother about Grandma Mazur and her dentures.

But the rest of me was still bound and determined. Gilman needed to be taken down!

Connie read my mind. "Come on, Butch—lessss give Gilman something to really moo about when she gets home."

"It'll be 'udderly' ridiculous," Lula snickered.

"What do I get out of all this?" Butch demanded, eyes narrowing again.

Maybe he wasn't as dumb as I thought. He certainly was catching on to the fact he was being duped.

"The satisfaction of telling Terry Gilman to eat your shit," Connie enunciated firmly.

"With real cow shit," Lula chimed in.

"_And _we'll set you up with a date," Connie added perceptively. "I know a girl that'd be _perfect_ for you."

_She did? Who?_

"What's her name?" Butch asked suspiciously.

"Joyce."

Beside me, Mary Lou practically choked from holding in her laughter.

It was enough to convince Butch though. "Okay, I'm in. Let me go pick out a cow."

He headed for the holding pen.

Connie looked down at her clothing. "We're a mess. I hate to get in your car, Steph."

"I'll see if Butchy-boy can find some spare towels around here," Mary Lou offered. "The real question though, Morelli, isssss can you stand the smell of us?"

I shrugged, still clutching the ski cap. "It won't be the first time I've hung my head out an open window," I replied, thinking of my last truck and the marijuana smell that had bothered my stomach a few weeks ago.

Mary Lou grinned. "All right then. Thanks to Butch, Operation Retri-moo-tion is back on!"

Oh Goodey.


	10. Chapter 10

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Ooooo...I HATE these long breaks between postings, but it simply can't be helped. I promise I'm writing. The problem is that I can only find little spurts of time each day. I know...excuses, excuses, but at least they are truthful ones. LOL!

Thanks a million to my wonderful beta readers Julie and Kim who continue to go above and beyond for me each chapter. I'm sad life has gotten busy for all of us, but that just makes me treasure the times we are in communication even more.

I would also like to give a shout-out to Jessica and Becky for the additional assistance they've provided at times with showing me some of my typographical errors, etc. after I've posted. While Kim and Julie do content beta for me, I take care of all the rest on my own. Believe me, after staring at it for as much as I do, it's easy to make little mistakes, and I appreciate the ability to go back and fix them easily.

And as always, thanks to all of YOU for the continued feedback whether it be signed or anonymous.

Okay, on with the chapter. Blessed Easter everyone!

* * *

Chapter Ten

**Joe's POV**

Ten o'clock.

Eddie and I pushed our way through the doors to the precinct's parking lot, and I took a deep breath. The fresh air felt good. It was about the only thing keeping me awake at this point.

One more hour, and I could go home to my wife—and my bed. At least I hoped my wife would be there. I hadn't heard from Stephanie all night, and when I'd tried calling her earlier, both the house phone and her cell phone had gone right to voice mail.

_Weird. _

Between the pregnancy and the Zofran, she was usually down for the count by ten o'clock. _Was that it? Could she have fallen asleep?_ Somehow I didn't think so, and knowing whom she was with wasn't helping matters any either. My mind was filled with all the crazy possibilities that motley group might've come up with to do after dinner.

_Face it, Morelli, as annoying as it is, your protective instincts are in high gear. _

"You okay?" Eddie asked, disturbing my thoughts.

He nodded at my shoulder. I'd bruised it earlier while tackling a drunk driver who tried to make a run for it after we pulled him over.

"I'll live."

It hurt like a son of a bitch, but I'd never admit it. No self-respecting cop on the TPD would.

"Some night, huh?" He opened the driver's door to his cruiser and slid inside, while I settled into the passenger's seat beside him.

"Yeah. I forget what it's like on the beat."

He snorted. "That's because you detectives have all gone soft."

"Whatever you say, Gazarra." The tone of my voice let him know what I thought of that ridiculous notion.

No sooner did Eddie turn over the engine than the car radio went off.

Reaching for the microphone, I groaned, "Probably another situation involving a drunk."

He barked out a short laugh. "Hey, at least you know it won't be about Steph then."

He was right. Thank God for small favors.

_But where the heck was she?_

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

The heater in the SUV was on full blast, all the windows were down and the unbearably nauseating smell of cow manure still hung in the air as we crawled through Gilman's subdivision thirty minutes after meeting up with Butch. Thankfully, a snowplow had been through at some point during the day, leaving behind only a thin, slushy mess for us to navigate.

"It's the cream-colored two story right over there," I mumbled through Connie's ski cap, pointing to one of the ritziest townhouses in the pricey Mill Hill district.

"The one with the tacky Christmas decorations out front?" Butch asked from the driver's seat.

I snorted in disgust, hating Gilman all the more for being so punctual. "Pu-leez—what kind of idiot puts up Christmas shit before Thanksgiving is really over?"

"I have my Chrissssmash shit up," Val piped up earnestly from the seat behind us.

My eyes rolled on cue. "I rest my case."

"Doesn't look like Terry's there," Butch noted, ignoring our sisterly sniping. He swept his free arm to encompass the street. "And not too many others seem to be awake at this hour either."

Somewhere during the ride, Lula had produced a flask from her coat pocket, which she'd been happily sharing with the others. As a result, Val about fell into my lap when she leaned into the space between Butch and me.

"Shhhhh…they might all be sleeping," she observed in an exaggerated whisper, putting a finger to her lips. Or putting up their Chrisssmash shit." She hiccupped and then giggled. "'Cept for Steph, of course. She waits until Easter."

"Can we get serious here?" I asked scornfully.

My anxiety level was rising about as fast as my energy level was crashing. Gilman might not live in a development manned by a security gate, but it was wishful thinking to hope an SUV hauling a horse trailer at ten o'clock on a Friday night would go unnoticed.

Her townhouse, no doubt purchased by Mobster Daddy, was definitely high end, but the fifty-two million Christmas decorations out front made it look like Lowe's had belched up the Yuletide Yucks on her front lawn. Six-foot inflatable images of Frosty, the Grinch and Santa Claus warred with reindeer, candy canes, a full-sized sleigh filled with straw and a traditional ceramic manager scene. Strands of every colored light imaginable draped from bushes, trees, gutters—even the garbage bin.

"Who knew Terry Gilman wassss one of Santa's ho-ho-hoarders?" Connie sniggered.

"I jussss thought she was a 'ho," Mary Lou retorted, sending the girls into hysterics again.

An hour ago that joke would've struck me as hilarious, but my pregnant body was beginning to fail me. Somewhere after Grandma's rescue, my adventuresome spirit had disappeared along with my sense of humor—both replaced by a growing need to go to bed. My desire for revenge however _hadn't _abated. On the contrary, now that we were actually at Gilman's, I was ready to get this final leg of the mission over and done with. I could hardly wait to reap the reward of Terry's reaction to finding a cow in her front yard.

Butch eased to a stop in front of the townhouse. From the trailer came the muffled bawling sound of the cow he'd loaded.

"You're going to keep that thing quiet, right?" I questioned him sharply. "We can't risk one of the neighbors calling the cops before she gets home."

_And we get the hell out of there._

"I ain't promisin' nothin'," Butch declared, trying to sound official. "Cows aren't exactly trainable like dogs you know."

Obviously he hadn't met Bob, who was about as trainable as a doorknob.

"Ezzactly how _DO _you keep a cow quiet?" Connie mused in thoughtful inebriation.

"Why that's sssimple. You have to _moo_zle it," Mary Lou quipped, setting off another bout of laughter for everyone but me.

Butch raised his voice self-importantly. "All right, ladies. This is how we're going to do this. Once we open the door to the trailer, I need one of you to go in and keep the cow calm while I lower the ramp. Then I'll take the rope and lead her down and out into the yard." He glanced in my direction. "Where are we going to tie her up?"

Stifling a yawn, I scanned the front lawn and pointed to a small, yet sturdy looking maple in the middle. It was nearly covered by snow, but it looked strong for what we needed.

I spared a glare for my companions. "You all need to keep quiet out there. No more giggling and acting drunk."

"But we _are _drunk," Val defended. "Some of us are ver-wy, ver-wy drunk—like me." Her expression grew perplexed as the neurons in her brain finally managed to connect in a rational thought. "Stephie, how am I going to get my Cuddle Umpkins to plow my field later when I'm this drunk?"

So much for coherency—how did I tell my sister she wasn't going to _get _plowed; she _WAS _plowed.

Butch jumped in. "I could plow your—"

"Focus, Goodey," I demanded. "Somebody is bound to see us. It's only a matter of time, so let's get this show on the road."

"What about Edna?" Mary Lou questioned. She stole a look at her in the far back where she was slumped against Lula half-asleep. "Do we dare leave her?"

Lula gave Grandma Mazur a little shove, toppling her in the opposite direction. "Edna ain't goin' nowhere like this. Plus, she can't talk s'good without her teeth." She raised her eyebrows as if she too had just experienced a startling realization. "Damn, girlie, your grandma is a mess."

_Gee, Lula, and I wonder how she got that way?_

"Since you all won't let me get out of the car, I guess it's up to me to keep an eye on her," I sulked—both from the unwanted responsibility along with the knowledge I wouldn't be in on the final 'kill'.

Despite being under the influence, the girls had been surprisingly insistent I remain in the vehicle for this last leg of the mission. No one wanted to take a chance on me getting hurt by the cow—or Gilman for that matter. _Sigh. _As much as I'd grown to love my babies, sometimes the limitations of being pregnant really sucked.

"All right, let's do this and do it fast," Butch ordered, one hand on the driver's door handle. "I need to get the cow back before sun-up."

_Right._

"Make me proud," I called out tiredly through the open window.

Butch walked as stealthily as his six foot six frame allowed to the back of the trailer, while Connie, Mary Lou, Val and Lula stumbled their way through the slushy snow, arguing and laughing like hyenas all the way.

"S'whose goin' in there with the cow?" Mary Lou wondered.

"I nominate Connie," Lula promptly responded.

"Shhhh!" I hushed. Kneeling on the seat, I had half my body stuck out the window watching the action.

"Me!" came Connie's outraged response. "Why me? At least _you've _had experience with a stampede. _You _should do it."

"Hell no! I'm 'llergic to cowssss. Cowssss give me hives. I can't afford to be gettin' no cow rash now that Tank and me are back together!"

"_I'll _do it," Val grumbled. "I corral children all day long. How much harder can one cow be?"

"And I'll help you," Mary Lou offered magnanimously. "'Cause I'm also a very good child wrangler."

"Thasss true—you are," Val nodded carefully. "Having two boys makes you an essscellent cow—"

"Hey!"

Connie and Lula burst into laughter.

"Oops—WRANGLER. Cow wrangler," Val emphasized with a giggle of her own.

"Can we get on with this already?" Butch begged.

He rolled up the back of the trailer, and the sound of mooing grew louder.

"Tell that thing to be quiet," I hissed.

Together Butch and Lula hoisted Val and Mary Lou up into the back of the trailer, and then Butch quickly went to work lowering the built-in ramp.

"Wasssss happng?" Grandma mumbled blearily from the back of the SUV.

"Nothing. Go to sleep, Grandma."

I was scared to death of what my mother was going to do to Val and me—_particularly_ me—when we dropped Grandma off later. Perhaps I should have her stay at my place until I could at least get her outfitted with some new teeth. Of course if I did that, it would require putting the kibosh on having sex with my husband until she was gone. I'd sooner die than take the risk of her walking in on us—lock or no lock. _Could I stand not having sex with Joe for a few days?_

Nope, my gummy grandmother was _definitely _going home tonight.

A loud thump indicated Butch had the ramp on the ground, and immediately several lights turned on in the neighboring houses.

"Crap," I muttered to myself, briefly closing my eyes in an attempt to ward off fatigue. "We've got to move." In a louder voice, I called out the window. "Hurry, people. We've been spotted!"

"Hold the cow steady!" Butch cried out sharply to Val and Mary Lou. "I don't have this last pin in place."

"Hold her? Hold what?" Mary Lou challenged. Her voice was muffled inside the trailer.

"The rope around her neck."

"Who the hell ssseeees a rope?" Val chimed in faintly. I could barely hear them. "Isss too dark in here. It smells too." I heard her swear loudly. "Shit! I just stepped in something shooshy."

"_Shooshy_?" Mary Lou repeated with a slight shriek. "Crap, what is it?"

"Crap. That's ezzzactly what it issss, Mary Lou. It's shooshy crap."

That sent Lula into hysterics again. "Don't you mean shooshy shit?"

"Cut it out!" Butch growled. "You're upsetting the cow."

"Thisss cow has horns," Val said in a stunned tone, as if she'd just noticed. "I thought cows were girls."

"It _is _a girl, dumbbell," Butch said, clearly irritated. "It's a Texas Longhorn. They _all _have horns."

"Watch it—you don't want to get poked by one of them things," Mary Lou advised.

"What the hell isssss a Texas cow doin' in New Jersey anyhow?" Lula asked, and then promptly let out a belch. "Shouldn't we be killin' Jersey cows in Jersey?"

Butch looked disgusted. "You idiot, Jersey cows don't come from Jersey!"

"Who cares about that," Connie interrupted. "What I want to know is do all cowsss have horns? 'Cause thasss not how I picture 'em in my head?" She tapped her forehead several times for emphasis.

"Well, thisss horny cow is getting antsy," Val informed everyone. "So we best get this show on the road. Now where issss the doggone flashlight?"

The movement, the loud voices and the laughter were all working together to incite the cow. It began to move restlessly inside the trailer, causing the SUV to shake.

"You're right, Val. That cow hasss gone all pisserino," Connie agreed from the ground. "She looks ready to charge." Snickering, she added, "You'd probably better hide, Lula."

By now people were gathering on their front porches and in the street.

"Hey—hey you!" one old man called, waving a cell phone. "What the hell you think you're doing over there."

"Shit, shit, shit," I moaned miserably. My fingers gripped the window ledge tightly. In a louder voice, I ordered, "Abort the mission and get in the fucking car—NOW"

"Whoooossss fckgin a car?" Grandma slurred through her sunken mouth. She held onto the seat in front of her for dear life and looked around hopefully.

"The pin is stuck, and now I can't move the ramp in _or _out," Butch informed me nervously.

The rocking from the trailer grew fiercer.

"Hold her!" he commanded Mary Lou and Val.

"Issss too dark," Mary Lou explained. She sounded scared. "And Val can't find the flashlight."

"I'm calling the cops," the grumpy neighbor informed us loudly. "You hear me?"

"Val—the flashlight," Mary Lou urged.

"I'm trying—I'm trying," Val whined pitifully. It wassss in my pocket, but now it isssn't."

"Oh for God's sake," I huffed, yanking the door handle. _What had I been thinking letting a bunch of drunken women undertake a mission of this magnitude? _

Hauling my weary body out of the car, I'd barely taken two steps toward the back of the trailer when I heard, "Oops! Sorry Missus Cow."

A loud, inhuman snort rang out, followed by a massive thump that shook both the trailer and the SUV.

Mary Lou screamed. "Fucking A—watch out! Val kicked the cow."

"Get out of the way!" Butch shouted, grabbing Connie and diving with her into a snow bank on the side of the road.

Meanwhile, Lula remained rooted to the spot in horror.

"No!" I cried. My feet were like two lead bricks as I moved in slow motion toward my shell-shocked friend.

Just then, the cow burst out of the trailer onto the ramp, which promptly fell with a deafening crash to the ground. Frightened and incensed, the poor animal gave one mighty shake and charged forward directly toward Lula.

"Holy Crap—it's a cow!" one of the neighbors shrieked.

"Lula!" I yelped at the same time.

Just as the cow came upon her, Lula snapped out of her stupor and flailed her arms outward. One of her hands managed to snag the rope attached to the cow's neck. But despite her weight, she was no match for the massive beast, who took off running. Lula made a desperate leap and landed half-on/half-off the animal.

"Omigod," Connie yelled shrilly. "Somebody stop that cow!"

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"If I never see another drunk in this lifetime, it'll be too soon," I muttered to Eddie, as we climbed back into his cruiser for the umpteenth time that night.

"No kidding. I feel a definite shower coming on when I get home tonight."

Our last call had been an easy pick-up of Sam Gambino, one of Trenton's classier town drunks. He'd simply been passed out cold in front of his high-priced mansion in the Mill Hill district after a night of poker down the street at his buddy Chuckie Warwick's place. There hadn't been much for us to do other than drag him inside and pass him off to his annoyed wife Geneva—that and wipe the puke off of our boots yet again.

_What a messy night._

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, I cursed inwardly. Ten twenty. _Would this shift ever freakin' end?_

I had my hand on my cell phone to try Stephanie again when the car radio let out another loud squawk. The voice of Mona Meyers, TPD's oldest dispatcher, came through.

"Squad 16. Do you copy?"

I picked up the microphone and responded. "Squad 16. 10-4."

"Squad 16. I have a 10-67 and an 11-54 six blocks from you at 4235 Burning Tree Drive in the Forest Lake Subdivision, Mill Hill. 10-91 A, B, L and V. Do you copy?"

Someone was calling about a suspicious vehicle and a stray animal that was noisy, vicious and off its leash. Great.

"Just the way we want to end the night—with a rabid dog," I grumbled off-mic to Eddie.

"With our luck, it's probably drunk."

Snorting, I said to Mona, "Squad 16—10-4. Any indication what kind of dog?"

"Negative, Squad 16. The caller said it's a cow."

_Huh?_

"What the hell?" Eddie choked out a laugh. "Did she say a _cow_?"

"We need a 10-9 on that, Mona." She'd _better _repeat it.

"A cow, Squad 16. Do you copy?"

Eddie and I exchanged bemused glances. "Squad 16—10-4. En route."

I flipped off the mic. "Burning Tree—that's Gilman's street."

"Maybe she was screwing the cow, and it got loose," Eddie guessed.

That got a laugh out of me. "I wouldn't put it past her. She certainly has had cow on the brain lately. Steph too—"

My voice stopped cold when out of nowhere a horrible image came to mind of Stephanie's SUV covered in lipstick with the word _Moo _scrawled across the windshield, along with four slashed tires.

_No._

"Don't," I warned myself. "Don't even go there. She wouldn't be that foolish."

"Who? Gilman? Hell yes, she would," Eddie grimaced. "Face it, Morelli, she'd screw anything. Now what's this about Steph?"

Completely ignoring him, my mind began to race. _Don't be an idiot. Stephanie has no way of gaining access to a cow—let alone a way to transport one. She wouldn't do something that crazy. She's out to dinner with the girls. She's out to dinner with the GIRLS._

_She's out to dinner WITH THE GIRLS—and she's not answering her phone._

Oh fuck.

Stephanie wasn't the only one with intuition. Mine was telling me there was a very bad reason why I couldn't get a hold of my wife, and a cow was suddenly loose on Gilman's street.

"Haul ass, Eddie."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"Lula stop!" I called out over the gasps from the crowd.

"Help!" she screamed. "Thisss cow 'gone kill me!"

Butch scrambled out of the snow bank with Connie still attached to his side. Covered in snow, his height made him look like the Abominable Snowman. Without a thought, he flicked an equally snow-covered Connie aside as if she were no more than a flea.

"Lula," he barked anxiously. No doubt he was seeing his job going down the crapper. "Listen to me. _DO NOT_ pull the rope too tightly. You'll choke her!"

Heedless of anything but freedom, the cow raced through Gilman's front yard with Lula still draped over its back. Half-crazed, it ran haphazardly past the blow-up Christmas characters. One longhorn punctured Santa, sending the plastic figure up into the air like a missile.

At the explosive sound, Grandma's head popped up. "No one tld me thr were frwrks."

By now, the entire neighborhood had gathered.

"It's a cow!" a new rubbernecker shrieked.

"Nonsense. They don't allow cows in this subdivision," another called back. "The association has strict rules against such things. I'm calling the police."

"I already did!" the grumpy man with the cell phone from earlier hollered.

My heart leapt at his words. He really _had_ called the cops. Regardless of who took the call, Joe was bound to hear about this fiasco. We had to leave—NOW.

"Holy hell," Mary Lou uttered dazedly, as she and Val leaped down from the trailer. She took one look at me and pointed at the SUV. "Get back in there before you get hurt."

"Are you crazy?" My fatigue momentarily forgotten, a burst of adrenaline propelled me forward. Someone had to stop that cow.

Mary Lou glowered. "Seriously, Steph, Morelli will kill us if—"

"Too late," I interrupted. "The neighbors have called the cops. When Joe hears about it—"

"The cops are coming?" Val freaked. "Oh crap. Oh crap. Oh crap." She bounced up and down frantically beside Mary Lou. Either she was scared to death or had to pee. "I can't get arrested. My husband isssss a pillar of the community."

Sure he was_. _And mine was Peter Pan.

"Ssssomebody help!" Lula squealed again. "I've been cow-napped."

Frightened by all the commotion, the cow simply went wild. In and out of people's yards it charged, plowing through the snow as if it were nothing more than spun sugar. Dazzled by all the lights in Gilman's lawn, it returned to crush the manger scene to smithereens before zipping in and out of the candy canes like an obstacle course.

"Goodey, do something!" I hollered at Butch, who stood there dumfounded.

"What can _I _do?" he shrugged, palms up. "I'm a security guard not a rodeo star."

The cow's horn nicked another of the blow-ups, and this one shot off like a bottle rocket.

"There goes Frosty," Connie noted sadly.

"And my life as I once knew it," I muttered grimly, hearing a siren fast approaching.

With my luck, it'd be Carl and Big Dog, and I'd _never _hear the end of it.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"What the—?"

My mouth dropped as Eddie turned onto Gilman's street. Half the neighborhood was gathered in front of Terry's house watching a woman riding a cow through her front yard—a rather large woman that upon closer inspection looked suspiciously like—

"Hey, isn't that Stephanie's sidekick Lula?" Eddie asked, pulling up in front of Gilman's next-door neighbor's house. "And what's with the horse trailer? Wait—isn't that your SUV attached to it?"

_Oh Jesus—no. _It had to be someone else with a green SUV. Steph wouldn't—

I was out of the car before Eddie could set the brake. Unfortunately, so was Gilman, who pulled to a screeching halt behind the cruiser.

"What the fuck!" she shrieked, slamming out of her Mercedes and barreling toward me on ridiculously high heels. "Is that a freakin' _cow _on my property?"

"Looks like one to me," Eddie responded dryly from behind me. "New pet?"

Her eyes glowed in the beam from the streetlights. "Shut up, Gazarra. Turning that wild gaze in my direction, she added, "Where's your wife?"

_Good question._

Playing dumb, I shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"She's responsible for this!" Gilman raged, looking around. "Shit—look at what she's done to my decorations. That crèche has been in my family for over four generations!"

"Calm down," I said, trying to remain cool myself. All the while my eyes scanned the crowds looking for Stephanie.

_Please let her and the babies be safe, God. I can't deal with anything more._

Terry began to push her way through the spectators, slogging through ten-inch snow mounds without a thought to her footwear.

"Where is that bitch?" she fumed. "Stephanie Plum—you cow—you're dead meat. You hear me?"

"Who's Stephanie?" some old lady, wearing a full-length mink coat over her bathrobe, asked. "Is that the fat woman on the cow?"

Another old biddy stepped in front of Eddie, who was right on my heels. Seeing as he was the only one in uniform, he was an easy target.

"Officer, do something before that woman gets killed," the woman pleaded.

"Call Animal Control," I commanded Eddie, never breaking stride as I bounded after Gilman. I needed to find Stephanie before Terry did. In her current state, no telling what she'd try to do to my wife.

Hoping to give her fair warning, I called out anxiously, "Stephanie?"

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

My stomach lurched at the sound of my husband's voice.

_Oh no. _

Mary Lou whipped her head toward me. "Omigod, is that—?" She didn't even bother to finish. Eyes wide with fright, she hissed, "Get in the car!"

Another voice sounded—this one decidedly female and annoying as hell.

"Listen up, Stephanie—I'm going to tear you apart with my own goddamned hands when I find you."

Gilman.

_Yes!_

_This_ was the moment I'd been waiting for. I was in a shitload of trouble, and granted, this wasn't how I'd envisioned Gilman would find the cow on her front lawn. Still, her anger was a beautiful sound to my very tired ears.

"Steph, move!" Mary Lou ordered hoarsely.

Shoot! I didn't want to miss the party, but if Joe saw me standing out in the open like that, he'd go ballistic. Better to take cover and start coming up with a way to deflect what would surely be an angry Joe.

Diving for the nearest door, I nearly bowled over poor Grandma Mazur, who had moved to the middle row and was taking a slug out of Lula's flask.

"No!" I snapped, grabbing the silver container from her hand. "_No_ more liquor. It's a wonder you're not dead already."

She grinned up at me like a drunken fool. "Schtephie, I wuvyou," she gushed. "Yr thbst grndther evr. Nvrhad sssssooooo mchfun."

Sighing, I tried to ignore the fact that she smelled like a distillery and turned my head toward the fresh air coming through the open window. "I love you too, Grandma. Now get your rosary out of your purse and start praying."

"Oh my freakin' God!" Gilman's indignant squeal could be heard above all the commotion. "Look at my candy canes! One of them is going up your ass, Stephanie. Where are you!"

She stumbled out into the middle of her yard in a long leather jacket. Arms spread wide in stunned dismay, she floundered in circles trying to shoo the cow off her property.

I couldn't resist leaning my elbows on the windowsill to watch all the action—a huge grin covering my face.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

_Where the hell were Stephanie and her grandmother?_

Looking over the heads in the crowd, I saw Mary Lou, Connie and Val standing next to some giant covered in snow near the back of the trailer. But my wife was nowhere to be seen. _Had the girls decided to carry out this caper without Stephanie and Edna?_

"Watch it, Lula," the towering Yeti-like creature bellowed. "Ease up on the rope. You're gonna choke the cow to death!"

_Who the heck was he?_

Lula's distorted voice jerked as she bounced along facedown on top of the cow. "You think I care about this stupid ass cow? I'm 'bout to be ssssick. Help!" If possible, she yanked the rope even harder.

"Screw the cow _and_ the one on top of it," Gilman raged, still chasing after Lula. "It's my _yard_ that needs help! You and all your obnoxious friends are SO going to pay for this stunt, Stephanie Plum. I swear it!"

Despite being half-crazed with worry over Stephanie, I was obligated to help Eddie get control of the scene before someone got hurt.

"Terry, stop chasing the cow!" I ordered in my most authoritative voice.

The enormous horned beast, confused by the crowd and the commotion, was the one that stopped dead in its tracks, catapulting Lula into the air.

"Aaarrrghh!" she screamed, arms and legs bicycling wildly.

Every single spectator stood frozen in shock, including me. Even though there was nearly a foot of snow on the ground, I was scared to death Lula would fall and break her neck. Miraculously, rather than snow, she landed with a loud 'oomph' in the middle of a full-sized sleigh filled with straw instead. The crowd gave a collective gasp. One terrifying moment of silence haunted us all before the sound of retching could be heard coming from inside the sleigh.

The sound galvanized us back into action.

Gilman immediately climbed onto one of the running boards and began to pull on the back of Lula's black sweatshirt.

"Stop puking! You're ruining my great great grandfather's sleigh!"

Every fiber of me wanted to find Stephanie, but duty called. I simply couldn't ignore the situation with Terry and Lula. Rushing forward, the giant Yeti, Eddie and I arrived on scene at the same time.

"Terry, no!" Eddie ordered, sliding his arms around her waist and hauling her to the ground kicking and screaming.

The giant grabbed a hold of the rope around the cow's neck and wrestled with the now kicking beast until it finally stood still. Meanwhile, I hopped onto the running board to check on Lula. She was flat on her back staring up at me bewilderedly.

"That you, Officer Hottie?" she slurred. "Weeellll, shit—fancccy meetin' you here."

Behind me, Eddie continued to struggle with an irate Gilman.

"Are you all right?" I addressed Lula intently, holding my breath against the stench from the recently expelled contents of her stomach.

She took a minute to process my question, as if I'd just asked her if she could pilot me to the moon rather than a simple pleasantry.

"Noooo, I don't think I am okay," she answered thoughtfully. "That wassss way worse than last year's stampede. And somethin' smells. You smell that?"

"That's you. You just puked, remember?"

"I did? Hunh. Ain't that something? I _don't_ remember."

"Are you hurt? Did you smack your head?"

She wiggled her hips back and forth. "Nothin' a little nip won't hurt. Where's my flask? Do you know?"

I rolled my eyes. "Can you sit up?"

She made a half-hearted attempt to lift her head. "Nope. I think I besss stay here for a while. Tell Tankie I'll be home in the mornin'. G'night."

And with that, she promptly passed out.

_Great. Now I had to worry about whether it was from the alcohol or the fall._

Jumping down, I saw Eddie had finally managed to get a firm grip on Terry.

"Lula passed out," I reported. "I think it's from drinking, but better call an ambulance just to be safe."

"I'll grab a blanket from the trunk of the cruiser in the meantime," he offered.

Connie, Mary Lou and Val nearly fell over each other as they staggered into the circle. Waves of alcohol and cow manure rolled off all three women.

"Lula—are you all right?" Connie demanded, hopping up and down to try and peer into the sleigh. Incensed at seeing her friend passed out, she rounded on Terry. "What the hell did you do to her, you stupid bitch? So help me, if you've hurt her—"

Gilman moved to break free from Eddie's grasp again, and I quickly pulled Connie back.

"_Nobody's_ hurting anybody. Now quit it, or I'm bringing out the cuffs." I shared a frustrated look with Eddie. "We need back up."

"On its way, along with Animal Control," he answered, rolling his eyes behind Gilman's back.

"My yard—my beautiful decorations—everything is ruined. Where the hell is Stephanie? This is all _her_ doing. I know it!" Terry railed.

_Good question. _The fact my wife was nowhere to be seen had me panic-stricken.

"You leave my sssister alone, you big bully," Val commanded, wobbling toward her on unsteady legs. "We Plum girls have had jusss about enough of you." She puffed out her chest indignantly. "And I'll have you know I did _not _sleep with Howie Bogerwitz."

"Thasss right," Mary Lou punched the air with her fist for effect and about fell over. "She didn't sleep with any booger boy, _AND _Stephanie issss _NOT _a cow!"

"Which must make YOU— Terry fucking Gilman—" Val paused dramatically.

"THE COW!" Mary Lou finished with a victorious flourish. High-fiving each other, they fell on their asses.

They were completely trashed.

Terry broke free, sending Eddie to the ground, and leaped forward with nails outstretched. I barely managed to catch her around the waist before she crashed into Mary Lou.

"Enough!" I barked into Gilman's ear.

She writhed in my arms. "Your stupid skank of a wife—"

"I said ENOUGH!" After a slight shake, she finally stopped fighting me.

"This isn't over!" she spat. "I want every single one of these losers arrested. You hear me, Joey? Arrest them!"

"Sorry, Morelli," Eddie offered sheepishly, dusting snow off his uniform. "Lost my grip." He moved to take Gilman's arm.

"Arrest them, _Joseph_—now!" Terry demanded, ignoring Eddie. "Do it—or I'm calling my attorney _and _my father."

Our eyes met in a not-so-unfamiliar duel, and my tone was dangerous, as I responded, "Don't threaten me." _Or my wife. _The words were unspoken, but my meaning was clear.

Eddie managed to get a hand on Gilman's arm. "We'll wait near the cruiser, while you take care of Lula." Looking over his shoulder, he added, "Big Dog and Carl are here. I'll have them work on dispersing this crowd."

"Thanks, Gazarra. I'll join you in a minute."

_Right after I find out what the heck is going on._

Eddie led Terry away, and I realized Yeti man had already taken the cow back to the trailer as well. He had it tied to the back end, while he surveyed the ramp, which was basically a crushed metal mess on the ground.

Hearing the ambulance siren in the distance, I turned to face Stephanie's cohorts. Connie was the first to recover.

"Uh—hey, M-morelli," Connie stammered. "How'sss it goin'?"

My jaw clenched, and I got straight to the point. "Where is she?"

"Where'sss who?"

"Don't mess with me, Connie. Where—is—she?"

She immediately pointed to the SUV.

I scanned their faces. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Mary Lou assured me giggling. "We're all jussss fine. Aren't we girls?"

Their giggly, carefree attitudes pissed me off.

"I expected this from the others—but damn it, Val—I thought you at least had a little common sense," I reprimanded, extending my hand to help her up off the ground.

My sister-in-law exhaled heavily, about knocking me over with her breath. "I know. Issss a terrrrible, terrrrible thing we did. But don't tell my Cuddle Umpkins, okay Joe-Joe?" she begged in a pseudo-whisper, leaning heavily against me. "He would be vewy disssapointed in me, and I'm _really _hopin' to get plowed later."

"Yeah? Well, good luck with that," I retorted dryly and then shot a pointed look at Mary Lou, who'd managed to drag herself to her feet. "Think Lenny is going to bail you out of jail?"

Like any self-respecting Jersey girl would do, she slapped a hand on her hip and rolled her eyes at me out of self-preservation.

"Like you aren't proud as hell of your wife," she retorted. "She got Gilman good. We jussss helped her a bit. Thasss all. Right Val?"

"Thasss right. So there, Josssseph Morelli. You can put that up your fine assss and smoke it."

"I think isss a pipe you need to smoke it," Mary Lou corrected seriously.

Val sniffed primly. "You're absolutely right. Thank you, Mary Lou."

"Happy to help, Val."

My teeth ground together. "You're _all_ going to need help when Gilman's done pressing charges." In only a slightly more controlled voice, I added, "Stay here with Lula until the ambulance arrives."

"No problemo," Connie squeaked, while the other two nodded their heads in synchronization.

It was time to find my wife.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

From my vantage point in the car, I couldn't tell if Joe was angry or disappointed—probably both. Either way I was about to face the music.

I was sick over poor Lula. It'd taken all my self-restraint not to launch myself out of the car to see if she was okay. An ambulance siren grew closer, and that made me even more nervous. _What kind of person was I to hide while my best friends fought my battle?_

One who was in a whole heap of trouble.

Joe's work boots crunched in the snow as he approached the SUV, and I mentally prepared myself for the confrontation that was surely to come. He opened the door, took one large whiff of cow manure and jumped backward.

"Jesus, Stephanie!" he nearly gagged.

_Uh oh—he called me Stephanie—not Cupcake. NOT a good sign._

I attempted a feeble smile before shoving Connie's hat back over my mouth. "I know. It's pretty bad. But—hey—at least I didn't blow up the car, right?"

He didn't laugh, although to his credit _he_ didn't blow up either. In fact, he seemed awfully calm.

Too calm.

Not wasting a second, he extended his hand and helped me out of the car, all the while moving his hands frantically over me.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously, searching my face. "The babies?"

"We're fine," I assured him. Grateful to be out in the fresh air, I tossed the hat aside.

"You're sure?" He didn't look convinced. "I've got an ambulance on the way—"

Placing my hands over his, I gave them a gentle squeeze and repeated firmly, "Joe, we're_ fine_. Now how about Lula?"

He let out an unsteady breath, still visibly concerned over the three of us.

"She's passed out in the sleigh."

"Oh."

The one-word response was all it took to snap the rigid control on his emotions.

"What the fuck were you thinking, Steph?" he breathed raggedly. "And where the heck is your grandmother?"

Jerking a thumb over my shoulder, Joe leaned around me to find Grandma sprawled in the back seat wearing the same goofy grin she'd been sporting all night.

"Is she dead?" he asked, only half-jokingly.

Grandma waved two fingers in a little salute. "Hllo Jsph."

He took a closer look. "What's wrong with her mouth? It's all sunken in."

"She lost her dentures," I explained embarrassedly.

Joe gave me a nonplussed stare. "Where? More importantly—how?"

Seeing as I'd apparently lost my supreme ability of lying, I answered truthfully, "At the meat processing plant. She was trying to lure the cow out of the holding pen with a bottle of tequila."

"Tqlaaa?" Grandma slurred, raising her head hopefully.

"Tequila's all gone, Grandma. Go back to sleep."

"You're joking." Joe straightened and gave me a sharp look. "_Please _tell me you're joking. You stole a cow from the meat processing plant?"

I bristled. "We didn't _steal_ a cow. We borrowed it." Seeing his look of disbelief, I glared. "We did! Ask Butch."

"Who the fuck is Butch?"

"Butch Goodey."

Joe ran through his mental databank of names. It took a second, but I knew as soon as he put two and two together by the way his eyebrows shot up.

"The flasher who exposed himself to thirteen women a while back?" he asked incredulously. "Is that the giant Yeti out there?"

My spine stiffened. "He's a former FTA of mine. He works security at the plant now."

"And were you aware of this before or _after _you stole the cow," he asked in a snarky tone.

Clearly his frustration was growing.

My shrug was sheepish. "During?"

"Oh for God's sake," he groaned, running a hand agitatedly through his hair. "And why did he agree to help you?"

"Gilman was the girl Goodey bought the sex enhancement drug for—the one that turned him into a horny giant last year. He wanted revenge on her like the rest of us."

"Well, doesn't this whole mess just keep getting 'Goodey-er and Goodey-er'," he derided. "Whose grand idea was this little escapade?"

"_All_ of ours," I answered staunchly. No way was I going to let my girls take the fall for this.

"Seriously? You were _all_ stupid enough to think stealing a cow was a good idea?"

I punched his arm none too lightly. "Hey—"

"It _was_ a stupid idea, Steph. How could you possibly have thought even for a moment you wouldn't get caught?"

I shrugged again. "It was the best idea we could come up with at the time, especially after Gilman—"

"Forget Gilman!" he cut me off, his Italian temper finally getting the best of him. "Tell me this—did you give _any_ thought to the fact that you're just three days out of the hospital with a high-risk pregnancy? Better yet, did it even _once_ occur to you that traipsing around in the aftermath of a massive snowstorm might not be the healthiest thing for you and our children?"

"You're angry," I noted with a calm I really didn't feel.

"You think?" he snapped exhaustedly.

My conscience pinged knowing he'd worked a double shift that day. However, it wasn't enough to erase the satisfaction I felt over Gilman's distress. Despite my best effort, I couldn't stop another smug smile from spreading across my face.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Tired, worried and frustrated by Stephanie's lack of remorse, the self-satisfied gleam in her eye should've ticked me off even further, which is why I was shocked when my lips twitched instead. Mary Lou was right. I'll be damned if there wasn't a part of me that was amused and rather proud of her stubborn ingenuity.

Reaching out, I couldn't resist twirling one of her curls around my finger.

"A _cow_, Cupcake?"

My eyes softened when her shoulders slumped in relief at the use of her nickname.

"I couldn't let her get away with what she did to my car, Joe," she said quietly. "Plus, we ran into her at the restaurant tonight. She was merciless with her little barnyard digs, calling me a cow several times in front of everyone."

"Haven't you ever heard of sticks and stones?"

"Pregnant or not, I have a reputation to uphold, and she got nothing less than she deserved."

Surprisingly, I could understand how that theory would make perfect sense to her current, hormonally tortured system.

"Be honest, Steph—are you okay? Did you do anything foolish—?"

"I'm fine," she assured me, running a hand over my jaw. "Tired, but fine. The girls did all the work while I stood back and watched."

One eyebrow rose. "You do know that every single one of them is completely trashed."

The corner of her mouth lifted. "Hard to miss. They smell about as bad as the car too. Sorry it's such a mess."

Allowing myself the luxury of one brief hug, I ran another assessing hand down her spine to make certain she was okay before saying, "Come on—time to face Gilman."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

I shook my head, suddenly overcome by nerves. The reality of what we'd done was finally beginning to sink in.

"I can't. She's furious, Joe."

He looked at me incredulously. "You expected otherwise?"

"No, but this isn't how tonight was supposed to go down either. Our plan was simply to tie the cow up to a tree. I swear I didn't mean to break all of Gilman's Christmas decorations."

Joe grimaced. "You're going to have to face her sooner or later. Might as well take the bull by the horns."

My eyes rolled. "Cute." Glancing back at Grandma, I noticed she was sound asleep. "Think it's okay for me to leave her?"

"The paramedics just got here. I'll have one of them take a look."

"My mom is going to freak about this."

He snorted. "And you think I'm not?"

I slid my hands up the front of his jacket to rest against his chest. "What I _think _is you seem to be handling it all pretty well—for you."

Joe stepped back. "The night's not over, you know."

Taking my hand, he led me to the back of the horse trailer where Butch was still trying to figure out how to attach the ramp.

"Is it broken?" Joe questioned, looking down at the bent frame.

Butch glanced up warily. "Who wants to know?"

"This is my husband, Joe Morelli," I offered nervously. "Listen, Goodey, I'm sorry I got you into this mess—"

He cut me off. "Morelli. The cop?"

My husband bared his teeth. "Yeah."

A fine sweat broke out across his forehead. "Man, I didn't kill nobody!"

Joe gave him his most intimidating cop's stare. "You sure?"

"He's joking, Butch," I hastily assured him.

Goodey didn't look convinced. "I'm not looking for trouble—"

"Too late," Joe said out of the side of his mouth. "The moment you said 'yes' to Stephanie—"

"Hey!" I punched him in the arm again. "Be nice to your _pregnant _wife."

"Ow!" He rubbed his arm. "That sympathy ship set sail ten minutes ago. Now I'm all about cleaning up the barnyard." He eyed Butch. "Want me to have Animal Control transport the cow back to the plant?"

Goodey looked like he was going to be sick. "I'd rather take it back in the trailer if we can fix the ramp. Maybe then—"

"If you're thinking you can slip this by your boss, think again," Joe advised. "This entire fiasco will be all over Trenton by tomorrow morning."

_Great. _I could see the headlines now: _Bombshell Bounty Hunter Sets Off Barnyard Brawl in Mob Moll's Backyard. _Okay, technically it was the front yard, but by tomorrow the Burg would have it all wrong anyway.

"I'm gonna lose my job," Butch groaned.

"Let's hope that's all you lose," Joe grunted unsympathetically. He put his hand at the base of my spine and gently pushed me forward. "I'll send the Animal Control guys over. Let's go, Steph."

Butch looked almost forlorn. "What about my date with Joyce?" he called out after me.

"I'll be in touch," I yelled back.

_Right—when cows fly. _

Big Dog and Carl were busy shooing neighbors back to their homes, but that didn't stop Carl from giving me shit.

"Hey, Steph—you sure know how to make a Friday night shift interesting. Thanks for the _Moo-meries_!"

Big Dog guffawed loudly, while Joe swore softly under his breath. Once again I'd managed to embarrass him in front of his fellow cops.

Ignoring them, I shouted to Connie, who was supervising the paramedics surrounding Lula.

"How is she?"

"Schmashed and Sccchhnockered—Jussss like the rest of us!"

Val and Mary Lou were sprawled in the snow beside her making snow angels.

Joe kept on moving toward where Eddie and Terry were waiting for us at the police cruiser.

"Hey Steph," Eddie greeted casually. "Good to see you."

Terry stepped forward menacingly. "Why isn't she in handcuffs?"

"Don't start," Joe warned, putting out an arm to prevent her forward motion.

My eyes narrowed. "You don't have to hold her back. She doesn't scare me."

Scowling at us both, Joe said evenly, "We're going to _talk_ this thing out."

"What's to talk about?" Terry exploded. "Your crazy wife _ruined _my entire front yard, and I'm going to sue her ass for every penny of it too. Do you have any fucking idea how much some of those decorations cost? The crèche alone is priceless!"

"As much as a set of brand new tires?" I shot back cattily.

Gilman's eyes widened briefly before a blank expression settled across her face. "As usual, no one has any idea what you're talking about."

"Bullshit—you know _exactly _what I'm talking about. Did you really think I wouldn't pay you back for what you did to my vehicle?"

"What's going on?" Eddie questioned, completely confused.

"Stephanie believes Terry slashed all four tires and desecrated the windshield on her vehicle two weeks ago at Pino's," Joe supplied.

"I don't believe—I _know_," I snapped, shooting my husband a dirty look. "She used her slutty lipstick to write 'Moo' across the glass _after _she called me a cow in the bar."

"Sure I did," Terry drawled. "Right after I tattooed 'Oink Oink' on your forehead. You're delusional, you know that?"

_Bitch!_ "You forget—there were witnesses, you brainless bimbo."

"Who?" Eddie inquired, reaching for the pen tucked behind his ear. "And why didn't you report this before tonight?"

"Julie Wisneski was there, and Joe and I have been a little busy of late, wouldn't you agree, Eddie?" I jibed, referring to the mess with Joe's brothers and my stay in the hospital. "Gilman inferred the only reason why Joe married me was because I was pregnant, and that after getting the milk for free all those years, he was now stuck with a cow."

Joe stiffened beside me. It was the first time he'd actually heard the conversation that had resulted in the barnyard slur.

He pinned Gilman with an icy glare. "You will _never _know how much I love Stephanie _and _our children."

"She's a goddamned lunatic!" Terry flushed. "I said no such thing, and Julie would back me up."

"Even in a court of law?" I challenged. "Because if you take me down, I'm taking you with me—for every penny. Who's to say I don't have other witnesses, huh? There were a lot of people at Pino's that night."

"That's true, and of course we did get DNA on the lipstick sample too, you know," Joe added musingly.

Eddie and I glanced at one another surreptitiously. We both knew he was lying through his teeth.

_Hunh—and I'd always considered myself to be the liar in our family. Who knew my husband was equally as adept? _

Joe's fabrication was enough to cause Terry pause as she thought about her next move.

"How much were the new tires?" Eddie asked.

"Twelve Hundred," Joe answered, his eyes firmly glued on Terry.

Eddie looked around the yard and quickly calculated. "Looks like an even match to what we have here."

Terry rounded on him. "You idiot! I just told you the crèche was priceless. It was handmade in Italy over a hundred years ago!"

Joe rolled his eyes. "How much more?"

"You wish," Terry scoffed. "I want to press charges. I'm not letting your wife get away with this. Just because you're a cop—"

Momentarily forgetting my pregnant state, I bristled. "I'll take you on anytime, anywhere, Gilman. I don't need Joe's protection for that!"

Joe gave me a not-so-gentle tug and pulled me behind him. "You really don't want to fight this, Terry. We do have witnesses at Pino's, and we're willing to take it just as far as you are."

Her face turned even uglier as envy set in. She threw out a hand in my direction. "Look at her, Joey. She's a freakin' mess. What can you _possibly _see in her?"

Normally a very private person, I was shocked when Joe turned and met my gaze with one so sincere and loving that my throat instantly began to close.

"Everything," he said softly but unwaveringly. "And there is _nothing _you could ever do to change that, Terry."

"Let it go, Gilman," Eddie advised, his own voice huskier than normal. "Cut your losses and call it a draw."

"No—we'll send you a check for five hundred to help ease the blow," Joe said, "but not a penny more."

Gilman and I exchanged a heated look. Regardless of her answer, we both knew I'd just won the war. Joe's public declaration of love for me had effectively squelched any thought she may have had of stealing him back from me.

I may have quite possibly fallen in love with my husband all over again that night, and knowing I'd done nothing but make his life a living hell at work, had me feeling incredibly guilty.

"Fine!" Terry huffed. "But get _her _and all her ignorant friends off of my property right now."

"Fair enough," Eddie interjected, trying to contain a smile. "We'll clear out of here just as soon as possible."

"I'm going to check on Lula," I said to Joe.

He nodded, his eyes still on Gilman. "I'll be with you in a minute."

Sparing one more gloating look at Terry, I headed toward the yard, but I hadn't gone far when I heard Joe say in a low voice, "Stay away from my family, Terry. I'm not playing around here. You hurt Stephanie, and I'll cause _your_ family more trouble than you can possibly imagine."

"You're a fool," she hissed.

"A fool for love," Joe agreed unashamedly.

Yep, I was definitely head over heels for Joe Morelli—not that everyone in the world didn't already know that. Despite the hassles and the mess I'd created by my need for revenge, if I did say so myself, the whole evening had been pretty damned 'Moogical'.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"We're here."

_Silence_

After the drive from hell, we were finally parked in front of Cheryl's apartment. Glancing over, I noticed my charge was sound asleep in the passenger's seat, her head resting on the center console. _Who could blame her? _As it was, I was barely managing to keep my eyes open either.

It was almost eleven, and we'd been traveling for more than fifteen hours in a trip that should've taken no more than five. Even the drive from Newark, normally about an hour, had extended to almost two thanks to heavy traffic on the beltway.

My hand hovered above her cheek. Fully aware of how soft her skin was, my fingers fairly burned with the need to touch, while the rest of my body burned with the need to do a hell of a lot more.

Settling for her shoulder, I gave it a firm shake. "Zoomie, wake up. We're at your place."

Cheryl's eyes fluttered open. She looked momentarily confused—that is until her gaze locked with mine, and then she was instantly alert. Hastily sitting up, she swiped awkwardly at the hair that'd fallen over her eyes.

"What time is it?" Her voice was thick from sleep and sexy as hell.

"Going on eleven." I waited a beat before adding, "So have you come to your senses yet?"

Any momentary truce was eliminated by my question.

"If you mean have I reconsidered having you provide protection for me, the answer is no." Her golden-eyed gaze was direct. "Our association ends here, Ranger."

"Why are you being so difficult?" I asked, my look equally as pointed. "You're a psychiatrist, so it's doubtful you're stupid. You must realize you are in extreme danger."

She shrugged. "I've had a couple of prank phone calls. Big deal. People pull that crazy stunt all the time. It doesn't necessarily mean the threat is real. We have no idea where the phone calls are coming from."

"What about Sanchez?"

"There's no proof he's making the calls. You all are making some awfully big assumptions where he's concerned."

The tone of Cheryl's voice was calm, and I almost believed she really felt no threat—until I saw the muscle in her throat throbbing. She was terrified right out of her mind, and for some reason, the realization had me even more intrigued. No doubt she was strong as hell, stubborn as hell and sexy as hell—but she was also scared as hell, and _that _right there was my downfall when it came to women.

Sitting in the warm darkness of the SUV with her, I wasn't thinking about Stephanie for the first time in three years. And despite all the reasons why I shouldn't, the idea of kissing the woman in front of me suddenly seemed the only right thing about the whole miserable day.

"What?" Cheryl asked, her gaze narrowing at my contemplative expression. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Just trying to figure out if it's the protection you're fighting so hard—or me."

Even by the dim glow of the dashboard, I could see a flush crawling up her neck.

"Don't flatter yourself," she said in a shaky voice.

"I'm merely stating the facts as I see them. And the fact is, right or wrong, you're as attracted to me as I am to you."

"You're wrong," she denied breathlessly. "I'm not attracted to self-absorbed, arrogant Army grunts any longer. Been there, done that, and I didn't like the T-shirt."

No longer able to resist, my hand reached out to touch the ends of her silky hair. "If it's not me, then why are you breathing so hard?"

"Cold air."

She gasped as my hand sunk beneath her curls to wrap around her slender neck. I could already imagine my mouth there, nibbling up and down the smooth column.

The corner of my mouth lifted. "You feel it too. Don't deny it."

"Feel what? Indigestion?"

My hand squeezed gently. "The energy—the inexplicable force field that's constantly there whenever we're near one another."

"What in the world did your mother put in that casserole?" she managed to choke out, but she didn't pull away. "It's making you crazy."

"You're right," I agreed, lowering my head. "I am crazy. _This_ is crazy, but I can't stand one more minute of not knowing."

"Knowing what?"

"Knowing what you taste like," I murmured. "Let me taste you, Cherylyn."

Her eyes widened at my words and the use of her given name. Surprise was quickly replaced by her own desire, however, and they fluttered closed as my lips covered hers.

_Oh God. _Kissing her was even more than I'd imagined. Her lips were soft and pliant beneath mine and tasted sweeter than strawberries. Better yet, she lived up to her reputation, because not two seconds into the kiss, she abandoned any reservation by opening her mouth to me.

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

_What was I doing? _

I was furious with this man and his highhanded arrogance when it came to me—let alone the fact he'd brokered a deal with my father that would line his pockets for years. Firmly planning to send him on his way, his confession that he too felt the sizzling attraction between us had caught me completely off-guard. His use of my name had been even more intoxicating, and now he was kissing me, and I was kissing _him _as if my very next breath depended upon it.

_Dear God, the man could kiss! _I couldn't get enough of the way his lips tasted, nor the way he smelled and the firmness of his chest beneath my hands. Letting out a muted groan, my palms slid around his shoulders and up into the dark, silky hair at the nape of his neck.

It'd been so long since I'd allowed a man this close to me, and I never thought I'd be attracted to anyone like Mac again.

Ranger pulled back, and we both gulped for air. "You're so beautiful," he rasped, brushing the hair off of my forehead.

"Carlos," I breathed and watched his eyes darken.

"Did I change your mind?" He asked between kisses, moving his way down my neck.

"About what?" I inhaled sharply when his tongue ran along one of the veins.

"The protection."

I couldn't have been more shocked than if someone had dumped cold water over both our heads. Wriggling hard, I slapped my hands against his chest and pushed backward.

"What?" I demanded dazedly. "What the hell did you just say?"

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_Shit! _I hadn't meant for that to come out, nor did I mean it the way she thought.

"Hold on, I just meant—"

"You used this bizarre attraction to try and manipulate me into accepting you as my bodyguard?" she asked incredulously. "What kind of money-grubbing creep are you!"

He tried to pull me back. "It's not what you think—"

"Bullshit. It's _exactly _what I think. You're so desperate for the money that you'd resort to using my feelings against me. Well, guess what, jerk? I'm a psychiatrist. I know every trick in the book. Now let go of me."

"Zoomie—"

"Don't talk. Don't say another freakin' word to me, understand?" She fumbled for the door handle. "God, I can't believe how stupid I am! I hope you enjoyed that, Grunt, because it's the last time you'll ever see my face."

She nearly stumbled out of the car, and charged up her walkway.

"Cheryl, wait," I said, climbing out the other side and anxiously scanning the area for a potential threat. _Why did I feel so desperate all of the sudden? _"Let me explain."

"There's _nothing_ you can say to me that makes what just happened okay, Ranger."

"Your bags, your car—how the hell am I supposed to get home?"

"Take the goddamned car, and have one of your minions bring it back tomorrow. I don't care. Just leave me alone!"

She came to a sudden stop before her front stoop, and I nearly plowed into the back of her.

"What's wrong?"

"There's some kind of box on my doorstep." Her voice had become hushed.

I had my gun out before either of us could blink, and her mouth dropped in shock.

"You're carrying a gun?"

"Of course I'm carrying a gun. How else am I supposed to protect you—chopsticks? Get in the car."

"No way. I want to see what's in the box."

"Get—in—the—car."

"No! You're fired, remember?"

Growling, I nudged her up the stairs, making sure my body surrounded hers. Under the dim light of the porch light she'd left on, I saw it wasn't a box that had been left for her. Rather it was a cooler.

"Somebody leaving you some Thanksgiving goodies?"

"No. I don't know enough people yet who'd do that kind of thing."

"Stand back."

"I want to look."

My glare was fierce and uncompromising. "Stand back—now."

Her chin went up, but amazingly she didn't move forward. Every ounce of training and discipline screamed at me to call Rangeman for back up. It was insane for me to open the cooler without knowing what was inside.

"Either you open it, or I will," she muttered hoarsely.

"Let me make a call—"

"Open it."

_Damn it. _I hated being in a position where my authority was questioned, although I wasn't really sure if I still was in any sort of position with Cheryl or not. She'd made it abundantly clear I was relieved of my duties. _But did I answer to her or her father?_

Throwing caution to the wind, I slowly eased back the top of the cooler.

_Oh fuck._

Cheryl sucked in a huge breath, and I barely managed to turn and cover her mouth before she let out a scream.

It was a heart encased in ice, and from the looks of it—it was human.


	11. Chapter 11

I do not own any of JE's characters.

How about a little lunch reading, my patient friends? Yes, I finally was able to put together enough time to scratch out a chapter. I had a little Spring break getaway with my family, which refreshed my energy. I needed it too for Spring doesn't seem to want to make any sort of appearance in my corner of the world.

As always, I need to thank my two cohorts in crime, Julie and Kim, for their ongoing support as well as ALL of their wonderful, wonderful ideas. Writing just keeps getting more fun with the two of you, my sisters.

Thanks to all of YOU as well, especially to anyone reading that I'm not allowed to thank in person. And speaking of reading...there's a new Cupcake story on the block. My dear friend Pink99 has started a new FF, entitled, "My-Cousin-Vinnie-s-Wife-s-Cousin-Johnny-Thumbs". Be sure to take a look. If you've ever read one of her reviews, you already know she is hilarious, and she will fast become a force to be reckoned with in the land of FF. Congrats, sweet girl!

* * *

Chapter Eleven

**Cheryl's POV**

It took every ounce of my former military training not to throw up. Had Ranger's warm palm not been covering my mouth, I might have done just that.

"Don't scream," he hissed low against my ear. Seeing my pale face, he added in a gentler tone, "We _don't_ need nosy neighbors. If I move my hand, you have to promise not to scream."

I remained motionless, still trying to process what I'd seen in that cooler.

_Omigod!_

Ranger scanned the area around us and urged harshly, "Promise!"

Nodding weakly, I gasped as soon as his fingers slipped away. "Is that a—?"

"Yes."

_God. Oh dear, God! Breathe, Cheryl._

"Okay." My voice sounded ragged to my own ears, and I took another steadying breath. "Okay, there's a human heart on my front doorstep. No need to panic. I'm sure there's a logical explanation."

Ranger stepped back and scowled. "Of course there's a logical explanation. It's called 'you have an insane lunatic stalking you'. When are you going to accept the truth and allow me to do what I've been hired to do?"

Not waiting for an answer, he plowed ahead.

"I'm done playing these games, Zoomie. I answer to your father and _no one_ else. Where are your keys?"

Still too stunned to pounce upon his statement about my father, I mumbled dazedly, "You want my _keys_? For what?"

"To get you inside and out of sight of whomever might be watching us. Now hand them over."

I risked a peek over my shoulder, trying to regain my wits. "You think whoever did this is out there right now?"

"I don't know, and we don't have time to stand around and discuss it. Give. Me. Your Keys."

Shoving my hand into my coat pocket, I pulled out my apartment key and opened the door. Ranger was right on my heels as I stepped inside. He had the door shut, the shades drawn and his cell phone out before I even had time to set down my purse.

"What are you doing?" I asked bemusedly. It was like watching a man possessed. "Who are you calling?"

He completely ignored me. Punching speed dial, he tapped his gun against his thigh impatiently while he waited.

Seconds later he said into the phone, "I just delivered the general's daughter to her place. She had a visitor, and he's left a calling card."

My mouth dropped. _What was I—a friggin' piece of property?_ _The general's daughter, my ass!_

"It was a human heart in a cooler," he continued, acting as though I wasn't even there. He listened a moment before continuing, "You've got that right. He's a sick bastard. Listen, I need—"

Fear and shock disappeared instantly along with my own patience. Despite the fact I really was scared as hell, there was no way I'd allow this man to take over my life—not when allowing him to take over my senses had already burned me.

Grabbing the phone from his fingers, I barked into the receiver, "Who is this?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Uh—Tank," came the surprised drawl from Ranger's right hand man, and I relaxed slightly. After what I'd witnessed from Tank during our adventure in the swamp, I had a lot of respect for the gentle giant—just not his boss.

Ranger made a move to swipe the phone back, and I danced out of his reach.

"Give me the fucking phone!" he demanded angrily.

"Tank, this is Cheryl Sullivan, _the General's daughter_," I interrupted, "I apologize for your boss bothering you so late at night _and _on a holiday weekend."

Ranger moved in front of me. The pulse in his temple throbbed. "Goddamn it, Cheryl—hand me the phone!"

"Uh—maybe I should talk to Ranger," Tank suggested awkwardly, having overheard his boss' outburst.

"That won't be necessary. There's no need for you to get involved in this, Tank, because my next call is going to be to the police."

"Uh—"

"So you take care now, okay? Oh—and Happy Thanksgiving."

I disconnected before he could respond, and turning, matched Ranger's wrath with a burning anger of my own.

"You're out of line," he seethed, immediately snatching the phone back.

"_Out of line?_" I echoed incredulously. "I'm not an Army grunt, Manoso. I don't care what kind of arrangement you have with my father. This is _my _life, and I'll be the one to decide what's best for me."

"You little fool!" he spat, his fist clenching and unclenching around the phone. "How can you continue to turn a blind eye to the fact you're in serious danger?"

"No blind eye," I countered heatedly. "I simply refuse to be manipulated. Because that's what _you_ are, Manoso. _You're_ a manipulator."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"Shut up!" I snapped in a rare loss of control. Only later would I admit the momentary lapse had been born from the fact I was out of my mind with worry over Cheryl's safety.

Quickly punching the recall button, Tank's lazy voice filled my ear again.

"You want back up?" he assumed.

Shooting daggers at Cheryl with my eyes, I bit out, "Hold off for now. I'll call you back once I have control of the scene."

My best friend had the gall to laugh at me. "Yeah—good luck with that. She's a live one."

"Which is more than I can say for the heart on the porch," I quipped. "Later."

Livid with rage, I hit disconnect and glared at Cheryl again. I couldn't remember when I'd last been that furious with anyone, and I certainly couldn't remember the last time my authority had been questioned so blithely. I swear to God, the way my heart was beating; I thought I was having a heart attack. Warm and sexy one minute, Cheryl Sullivan was an ice-cold bitch the next.

And still she turned me on.

The feisty psychiatrist pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket.

"I'm calling the police."

"Bad idea," I said coldly. "At least, not until I've had a chance to work with my own men."

"I _need_ to report this."

"And we will, but the reality is there are things my company can do that the cops can't."

She rolled her eyes. "The question is how many of them are legal?"

_God, now she sounded like fucking Morelli!_

Seeing my scowl, she added sarcastically, "I've lived and breathed the military my entire life, Ranger. With your background, I hardly expect that you and your men play Tiddlywinks over there at Rangeman."

Amazingly, the woman had lost all sense of helplessness from earlier. No longer pale and shaky, she looked royally pissed that some lunatic had dared to threaten her place of residence. And I'll be damned if that wasn't a turn-on too.

"I'm calling Joe Morelli," Cheryl said quietly, struggling to remain calm. Avoiding my eyes, she waited a beat and then added, "I'd like for you to leave."

_Damn it! Could this endless day possibly get any worse? _Now she wanted to bring in the one man I did _not _want to see—at least not until I was prepared.

_I'd like for you to leave._

The words reverberated in my ear, and once more I felt an inexplicable sense of anxiety over the possibility of never seeing Cheryl again. Mere hours ago, I would've begged for the opportunity to be released from _any_ association with the Sullivan family. And realistically, had it not been for the commitment I'd made to her father, I _would've _been out of there.

_Liar._

No, the truth was now that I'd tasted the sweetness beneath the sass, I inexplicably craved both sides of her personality. As foolish as that kiss in the car had been, it'd been a defining moment for me. I _was _capable of feeling something for another woman. _What_ that something was had yet to be determined, but now there was no way I could walk away from her—professionally _or _personally. Not without experiencing more of our wild chemistry.

Cheryl scrolled through her phone contacts.

"We don't need him," I insisted, sounding more than a little aggravated.

She shook her head. "Joe is the only one I trust right now."

Her softly spoken words were like a sucker punch to my gut.

I tried another approach to get her to forget Morelli. "Let me explain what I meant about that kiss. It's not what you think—"

"Not now," she whispered. "There's nothing you can say to make it right, and all I want to do is deal with that dead heart on my porch." She met my gaze straight on. "I'm calling Joe."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

After Terry agreed to my terms about her yard, things moved rather quickly. Carl and Big Dog succeeded in getting the crowd of rubberneckers to go home; Animal Control worked with Goodey to get the cow transferred into another trailer; Eddie managed to jerry rig Albert's horse trailer so we could leave, and Lula and Edna were both examined and released by the paramedics. Eddie and Carl, God bless their souls, offered to take the drunken cow thieves home, which left me to deal with Stephanie and her obscenely intoxicated grandmother.

The ride to her parent's house was tense. Stephanie couldn't stop worrying about what her mother was going to say, and I couldn't stop worrying about whether or not Grandma Mazur was going to puke in the back of our vehicle. I wasn't sure if I could handle that on top of cow manure.

"It's after eleven. Maybe she's asleep," Stephanie fretted again. The hat over her mouth muffled her anxious tone only slightly. It was a wonder she hadn't asphyxiated herself yet from the dumb thing.

Then again, it was a wonder _I_ hadn't puked from the way our car smelled.

I barked out a derisive laugh. "You wish! Trust me, you're a dead woman in about thirty seconds, Cupcake."

Turning onto their street, I noticed immediately that not only were the exterior house lights on at the Plum place, but several of the interior ones were as well.

Stephanie thunked her head back against the headrest in dismay. "She _can't _have heard already!"

I pulled to a stop in front of the house and shot her a knowing glance. "Lula's failed attempt at rodeo may not have happened in our neck of the woods, but people in Mill Hill know people in the Burg. Face it—you're toast."

The sound of Grandma Mazur snoring in the backseat only served to reinforce my point.

My wife lowered her 'mask' long enough to say crossly, "You don't have to sound so freakin' happy about it, you know."

That brought another little snort out of me. "You're even crazier than usual if you think I'm looking forward to getting my ass chewed off by your mother—not after the day _and_ night I've had."

"Why would she be mad at you? _You_ didn't do anything."

"Guilt by association. That—plus the fact she's never entirely forgiven me for the whole Tasty Pastry incident. I think she's convinced I'm the reason why you became such a wild child."

That smartass remark got Stephanie's hormones humming even more.

"I've hardly been a _wild _child," she said almost disdainfully.

"What you _are_ is a procrastinator," I shot back. "Now let's go. I need a bed in the worst way, and so do you."

It was true. Even in the dark, I could see that Stephanie's face was pale. She'd pushed her pregnant body way beyond what Dr. Hamilton would consider healthy, and the thought of what could've happened tonight had the tacos I'd eaten earlier churning in my stomach yet again. But as much as I wanted to lambast her for being so foolish, the additional stress wouldn't help her or the babies right then.

"Open the back door, will ya?" I directed, exhaustion making my tone short and surly. "I'll have to carry her in."

No sooner had we stepped outside than the front door to the Plum house opened. Helen came sailing down the walkway wearing boots and her bathrobe, while Frank followed at a more leisurely pace. Stephanie's mother wasted no time in making her hysteria known.

"Where in the Blessed Father's name have you been, Stephanie Michelle!" she blasted. "And what's this business about a cow? Ethel Conroy lives three doors down from Terry Gilman, and she said she saw Val playing in the snow, while a large black woman rode a bull around Terry's yard. Is that true? And where is Mother?"

Having reached into the SUV during her rant, I pulled out a nearly comatose Edna.

"Omigod!" Helen gasped, slapping both hands over her mouth. "What have you done to her?"

"Calm down, Mom. She had a little too much to drink—that's all."

Frank moved closer to peer down at his mother-in-law. "Where are her teeth?"

"She lost them earlier tonight," Stephanie confessed.

"Where? How?" Helen demanded expectantly. Her face was rapidly turning an unnatural shade of purple. "Good Lord, how drunk is she?"

"Very drunk," I finally spoke. "And despite her diminutive size, she's not exactly a featherweight. Can we _please _continue this inside, folks?"

"She looks like she needs a hospital!" Helen fumed, ignoring me.

"Or a morgue," Frank added soberly. His expression turned rather hopeful. "Say—she can't talk without her teeth, can she?"

"Frank!"

"That Albert's trailer?" he asked, jerking his head toward the curb.

"Yes, but can we please talk about it _inside._"

Not waiting for an answer, I nodded at Stephanie, who hustled ahead of me to open the front door. Once inside, I set Edna down on the couch in the living area, while the others crowded around behind me.

"So it's true!" Helen fumed. "You and Valerie _did_ bring a cow to Terry Gilman's house. Of all the juvenile and outrageous things you've ever done—how could you? Do you have any idea how much grief I'll suffer over this?" She thrust her arm toward Grandma Mazur. "And look at what you've done to your own grandmother. She smells like a brewery. It's shameful!"

"Somehow I doubt the girls had to force booze down Edna's throat, Helen. I'm sure she was more than willing to participate," Frank observed sardonically.

"Which is entirely the point! They _know _how she is. Stephanie should've been watching her like a hawk." She made a sign of the cross. "Madge Bigelow's daughter Linda doesn't do these kinds of things. She homeschools her children and makes blankets for orphans in Africa. You don't see her taking her grandmother out to carouse with barn animals."

"That's because _her_ grandmother is in prison for writing bad checks," Frank muttered. "Now can we all go to bed please? This isn't the end of the world, you know—"

"For you maybe!" Helen huffed. "You're not the one who has to bear the brunt of the gossip. All your lodge buddies think Stephanie's escapades are hilarious. Well, it's _not _hilarious when your daughter makes you the laughingstock of the Burg—"

"Val was there too, you know," I interjected snidely. I couldn't stand by and let Helen keep pinning the blame solely on Stephanie.

My mother-in-law whirled around to face me. "And _you,_ Joseph Morelli! How could you have let this get so out of hand?"

"Me!" I choked.

_And yet, why was I surprised? Hadn't I just told Stephanie she'd find a way to pin this on me?_

"Mom, Joe wasn't even there. And none of this is doing Grandma any good. She needs to get to bed."

"Hey, what's going on down here?"

We all turned to find Jessie standing in the doorway, half asleep. Her eyes went saucer-like upon seeing Edna passed out on the couch.

"Holy crap! What happened to her?"

"Never you mind, Jessica. Get on back up to bed," Helen ordered firmly.

"Whoa, is she trashed or what?" the teen laughed, waving a hand in front of her nose. "Shit, I can smell her clear over here!"

"Don't swear!" we all admonished in unison.

Helen turned and glared at Stephanie. "Are you happy now? What an excellent example you've set."

I'd had enough.

"No, Stephanie's _not _happy, Helen. She's tired and pregnant and already knows that tonight's events weren't in anyone's best interests, but as I said, she didn't make the decision alone. She had plenty of help from some very drunken friends, including your _other _daughter."

"Prissy Val got drunk too?" Jessie grinned. "Heck, I underestimated you folks. Maybe you _do_ know how to have fun."

I gave her my best cop's glower. "Zip it, kid."

"Jeez—what burr went up your butt? Can't a girl make a simple observation?" She happened to glance out the front window. "Hey! Is that the trailer we're using to get my stuff? Can we go tomorrow? What time?"

My tired brain simply couldn't handle anymore. "I don't know."

"You promised!" she reminded me, sounding more and more like a normal teenaged girl every day.

"Bet it's a mess," Frank muttered knowingly. "I don't envy you having to clean up cow manure."

"You should see the car," I grumbled, grateful for the distraction from Jessie's one-track mind.

Stephanie looked miserable, and God knows I was exhausted. It was time to call it quits.

"We're going home," I announced decisively. "Frank, do you want me to carry Edna up to her room before we go?"

"I wouldn't complain if you did."

"You're going?" Helen gaped, completely dumbfounded. "But you still haven't told us exactly what happened."

"Steph will call you tomorrow," I promised, feeling only slightly guilty over tossing my wife to the wolves. If I had to clean up cow shit, she could darn well handle answering all her mother's questions. I added pointedly, "You should talk with Val too."

Five minutes later, after having tucked Edna into her bed and assuring Jessie I'd call her the following morning with a definitive day and time to go pick up her things, I hustled Stephanie out the door. The way she looked I'd be carrying _her_ too once we got to our place. She'd never make it past the end of her parent's street before falling asleep.

"Thanks," she murmured drowsily after I helped her into the car. She looked up at me wistfully. "I'm sorry, hubby—for everything. I hate that you're going to hear shit about this from the guys at the precinct."

"That's the least of my concerns," I promised curtly, which was the truth.

As much as the Italian in me still wanted to rant at her for taking such a tremendous risk, I didn't have the heart to make her feel any worse than she already did. The truth of the matter was she'd had a rough road so far with her pregnancy. Being so physically limited had to be hell on someone as independent and active as Stephanie. And beyond that, there was _no one _who caused my wife to see red more than Terry Gilman—unless, of course, it was Joyce Barnhardt.

Leaning in, I brushed a feather light kiss across her lips. "Can you at least promise me you won't do anything more to put you and our children at risk?"

She thought about it for all of two seconds. "No, but I'll at least try."

My lips twitched unwillingly. "That's what I figured. Tell me this though, Cupcake. Was it worth it?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "You really have to ask?"

My smile was genuine this time. "It _was_ pretty damned spectacular."

"Epic," she agreed.

"It'll go down in Burg history," I teased.

"I'll be legendary."

"You already are."

She sighed, closing her eyes. "Yes, but this one takes the cake."

"I think you mean the cow," I muttered. Pushing back from the car, I added, "Can we go home now, please? I'm about to fall asleep standing here, and I'm afraid your mother is going to come out any minute for round two."

"What about your truck?"

"We'll deal with it in the morning. I'm so tired right now, I can't even think."

"Poor baby," she crooned, her eyes already drifting shut around a yawn. "I guess that means you're too tired for a little make-up—"

We both jumped when my cell phone rang.

"Fuck. Please, God, no," I practically whimpered.

"Who would be calling you now?" Steph wondered, perking up a bit in her seat.

No doubt it was dispatch.

Glancing at the display, I frowned. "It's Cheryl Sullivan."

"What! Why would she be contacting you this late at night?"

"Hell if I know." My finger hovered over the connect button.

"Aren't you going to answer it?"

"I guess." My voice betrayed the reluctance I felt inside, only my lack of desire had nothing to do with the lateness of the hour or the fact I was exhausted.

The phone rang again.

"Joe?"

"Right." I cleared my throat. "Morelli here."

"Joe—it's Cheryl Sullivan." Nerves were evident in her voice. "I'm sorry to be calling so late."

I hadn't talked with the psychiatrist directly since the night we rescued Stephanie from the swamp, and I broke down in the helicopter. Since then, she'd tried several times to arrange a counseling session, but I'd claimed work as an excuse. The truth was I was embarrassed about how I'd allowed her to see such vulnerability in me, plus I was afraid of going down that same road again if she got me to talking about my family.

"S'alright. Uh—what can I do for you?"

"I have a situation here at my apartment."

It wasn't just nerves in her voice; it was tension I heard as well, and instantly adrenaline kicked in.

"What's wrong?"

"I just returned from Boston where I was visiting my family for Thanksgiving, and I—well, I found a cooler sitting on my front porch."

"O—kay," I drawled hesitantly.

"I think you'd better come take a look at its contents."

"What does she want?" Stephanie asked in a stage whisper, frowning at me suspiciously.

I shrugged. My weary brain had me completely confused. "Can it wait until morning? I just finished a double shift, and—"

"You're going to want to see it immediately, Joe. And right now, you're the only person I trust."

_Huh?_

"What's in the cooler?"

"Cooler? What cooler? What's going on?" Stephanie demanded impatiently, the most alert I'd seen her since finding her at Gilman's place.

Cheryl's voice buzzed in my ear. "I'd prefer to wait until you get here—preferably alone."

"I don't mean to be rude, but I don't have time for games, Cheryl. Are you okay? What's in the cooler?"

There was a tussle in the background, and a new voice came over the receiver—a voice that was unfortunately all too familiar.

"No, she's _not _okay, Morelli. It's a fucking human heart in the cooler, and the shrink has a psycho stalker after her. Now get over here and do your goddamned job!"

"Manoso?"

Stephanie looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. Maybe I really _was _asleep on my feet, and I was having a nightmare. God knows any dream with Ranger in it would be nightmarish.

And then suddenly the most important words he'd spoken became crystal clear.

My heart thumped hard in my chest, and instantly I was wide awake and morphed back into cop mode. "Wait—did you just say there was a _heart _in the cooler."

"A heart?" Stephanie breathed in shock. She knew the implication of the words. "Omigod, Joe."

"Yes." Ranger rattled off Cheryl's address. "Get over here—now."

"Don't touch anything!"

"I'm not an idiot, and you're wasting time." He sounded insulted. Well, too goddamned bad.

_What the heck was Candy Netz's heart doing on Cheryl Sullivan's porch? It had to be Candy's heart, right? No way could there be two of them floating around Trenton. Could there?_

My mind was working at warp speed. "I need to call for back-up and take Steph home. Give me twenty minutes."

"No! No back-up—not yet. We need to talk first."

_Why the fuck was Ranger there?_

"Listen, Stephanie—"

"Is fine," my wife interrupted. "I'm fine, and you can't afford to waste time taking me home. I can wait in the car."

"And smell cow manure all night? No way—"

"Cow manure! What the hell are you talking about, Morelli?" Ranger questioned exasperatedly in my ear.

"Then I'll wait in Cheryl's bedroom, but let's go."

I hesitated, knowing she really needed the rest.

Stephanie reached out and squeezed my hand. "It's okay, Joe—I promise."

Pausing only a moment longer, I said gruffly to Ranger, "We'll be there in ten."

"Make it five," he retorted.

And the line went dead.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Turning, I found Cheryl about ready to spontaneously combust. Her voice shook with rage.

"You had absolutely _no _right to grab the phone like that."

I met her furious gaze straight on.

"Payback sucks, doesn't it, sweetheart," I reminded her, "and you're wrong. I had _every_ right. Your father—"

"Omigod—will you quit with my father already?" she shouted, thrusting her arms skyward. "The man does not run my life. _No _man runs my life!"

"God help the man who tries. It'd be easier to tame a rhinoceros."

Red-faced, she pointed toward the door. "I want you to leave—right now."

"No. In your irrational state, you _think _you want me to leave, but trust me, I'm your best hope of staying alive right now."

"Jesus, do you even hear yourself?" she gaped. "I have no doubt the Trenton _Police_ Department is more than capable of seeing to my safety."

Pride had me smirking. "Believe me—the TPD hasn't even _fathomed_ the technology I'm capable of using with my company."

"Are you_ really_ so desperate for money?"

The softly spoken question came out of nowhere, a well-aimed dart meant to stab my ego—one that succeeded.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You _say_ you're successful with Rangeman. Isn't the money from that enough?"

"This has _nothing_ to do with money, and I'm _very _successful in business," I ground out.

"Then what? What is it?" she pressed, moving closer toward me. "Is it some kind of military payback for my father? Do you owe him something—?"

Immediately my blood began to burn with memories of the past and exactly what Cheryl's brother Stephen and his buddy Mac had cost me.

I very nearly spat in her face.

"I owe your family _nothing_."

"Then why the hell are you pushing so hard for this bodyguard detail? It makes zero sense. You don't like me, and I _certainly _don't like you. Why force the issue?"

Good question.

For the most part, it _wasn't _about the money her father had guaranteed me, although there was no question a half a million dollars would go a long way toward making the bonds agency a reality. And despite my murky past with her family, it really had nothing to do with them either.

Unsettling as it was, the reason I was being so bullheaded rested with two truths—one being the fact that, ego notwithstanding, I simply was the best at personal security—period. The other was more complex and had to do with Cheryl herself.

From the moment I'd seen her at The Pokey nearly three weeks ago, the woman had been like a flesh-eating bacteria slowly eating away at my self-imposed protective shell. Her scent, her image, her quirky sense of humor, combined with her independence and unbelievable beauty had challenged me to feel desire for someone other than Stephanie. And while I'd been determined to resist the obvious chemistry between us, the kiss we'd shared earlier had ignited something I thought lost forever when Stephanie chose Morelli—something I didn't even realize I needed so badly.

A connection of some kind with a woman.

More than likely, _this_ particular connection with Cheryl was purely physical and brought on by my unplanned celibacy for nearly three months. Well, that was fine by me. After the twin blows of Stephanie's marriage and her pregnancy, I'd pretty much resolved myself to never open my heart to another woman, and God knows I barely knew _this_ woman.

Whatever my strange fascination, now that I'd had a taste of her, there was no way I was walking away until I'd seen things through—both in terms of the assignment _and _the attraction. My body demanded it.

My _head_ was still in charge, however, and _it_ had decided to keep my reasons to myself.

Cheryl continued to stare me down. "I asked you a question."

"Which I heard."

"Care to give me an answer before I have Joe throw you out of my apartment?" she asked flippantly.

My face went hard, causing her to instinctively take a step backward. "_Don't _threaten me with Morelli."

Her eyes widened in awareness. She'd crossed a sensitive boundary, and it burned me to know _she _knew exactly what it was. After witnessing our dysfunctional meeting prior to the paternity test results, she knew how I felt about Morelli, which made her phone call to him all the more insulting.

Cheryl opened her mouth to say something and then changed her mind. Instead, she ran a hand over her weary face and took a deep breath.

"Okay, let's stop," she said in a ragged voice. "We're both adults, and we both have strong opinions." Straightening her shoulders, she added, "But regardless of what you may think, I've been taking care of myself for a long time, Ranger. You saw me that night at The Pokey. Did I look incapable when I took out that bum who tried to hit on me?"

"There's a big difference between a drunken idiot and a psychotic killer."

"We _don't_ know he's a killer."

My eyebrows shot up. "When are you going to start using that PhD of yours? Friendly stalkers don't leave human hearts as party favors."

"Maybe it's unrelated—"

"And maybe I'm a woman. Come _on_, Zoomie—think!"

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

That was the problem—I _was_ thinking—too much. My mind hadn't stopped racing since our kiss in the car, but the thoughts were all jumbled. Worse yet, my heart had entered the equation, which was never a good thing.

Ranger was right about one thing—I was smarter than the way I'd been acting. I was a professional counselor—trained to think things through and not respond with irrational emotion. Unfortunately, while my passion for life, my quirky sense of humor and my own desire for meaningful relationships were the very things that made me successful when counseling others—they hadn't helped me one damned bit in my own life.

"I am thinking," I responded dully, pressing my fingers against my forehead. "I'm thinking this whole day has been a mistake. I never should've said yes to the protection. I shouldn't have agreed to have dinner with your family, and I _certainly_ shouldn't have allowed that kiss to occur—"

"Like you would've stopped me," he snorted derisively. A flash of anger, along with some other unidentifiable emotion, flittered through his eyes. "You wanted it as badly as I did."

A knock at the door prevented us both from saying more.

He held out his hand. "_I'll _answer the door."

"I can—"

"Goddamn it, Cheryl—don't move."

Cocking his gun, he pushed me aside and moved to one side of the doorframe.

"Who is it?" he demanded tersely.

"Stephanie," returned a familiar female voice.

A myriad of unidentifiable emotions washed across Ranger's face. Yet again, I mentally berated myself for having been foolish enough to allow him to kiss me. Right in front of me was the very person who made it imperative I stay away from Carlos Manoso.

_Get it through your thick head, Cheryl—the guy is in love with another man's wife!_

Ranger opened the door to reveal a peaked and rather bedraggled looking Stephanie leaning against the doorjamb. Behind her, Morelli had his back to us, gun drawn, scanning the area for potential danger.

Stephanie acknowledged Ranger with a wan smile and turned her attention toward me.

"Sorry. I know you asked for Joe to come alone, but it would've taken too much time for him to drop me off."

"It's okay," I offered awkwardly. "Come in. You look exhausted. Are you okay?"

She stepped across the threshold, quickly followed by Joe, and immediately a faint odor filled the room.

Ranger's nose twitched. "Why do you smell like a barnyard?"

"Long story."

The corners of his mouth curled. "Thought you'd given up rolling in manure, Eliza."

"Very funny."

Joe assessed both Ranger and me and wasted no time asking the question of the day.

"What're you doing here, Manoso?"

"Long story," he returned without missing a beat, resulting in an eye roll from Joe.

I jumped in nervously, "It's good to see you, Joe. I appreciate your coming so quickly."

He nodded, but his eyes never quite met mine. He looked ill at ease, and it didn't take two seconds for me to realize it had nothing to do with Ranger and everything to do with me. The professional in me knew what had happened. After his emotional breakdown the night of Stephanie's rescue, he'd retreated. More than likely, the cop in him was embarrassed to have shown what he perceived as weakness rather than grasping the fact that the more emotion he released about the multitude of stress in his life, the better he'd feel.

But now definitely wasn't the time to address our patient/client relationship. Joe obviously agreed for he went straight to business, addressing Ranger.

"I saw the cooler on the front porch. Did you use gloves when you opened it?"

"Negative," Ranger said. He shot me an impassive look. "Dr. Sullivan was rather demanding about opening it _before_ I was able to seek back-up or the proper equipment."

"Shit. Good thing you've got prints on file. We'll have to eliminate them."

"As I said, it wasn't my choice to touch it."

The man who'd kissed me so warmly and passionately not twenty minutes ago had disappeared, and in his place stood a cool businessman—one who acted like he'd rather be anywhere else than there. _What the hell? _Ranger's emotions were more fickle than a woman's, but was his change in personality in retaliation for my having denounced our kiss, or was it Stephanie's presence?

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Well I can't touch it either," I pointed out disgustedly. "Thanks to your impatience, I don't have any kind of field gear, and I refuse to contaminate the scene any further."

"I have some latex gloves in the kitchen I use for cleaning chicken," Cheryl spoke up. "Hold on—I'll get them."

She no sooner left the room than I turned on Ranger, who was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. _And what the hell was up with that?_

My voice lowered. "All right, cut the bullshit—what are you really doing here?"

"Is this a formal interrogation?"

His arched eyebrow taunted me, and I took a step closer. "I swear to God, Manoso—"

Stephanie grabbed my arm. "Stop—" She glared at us both furiously, "both of you."

"I haven't even started," I denied brashly. "Wait until I ask him why the fuck he thought it was okay to ask my wife to go into business with him behind my back?"

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

_Oh Jeez._

When I'd pushed to go with Joe, I hadn't even thought about the implications of the three of us being in the same room together for the first time since Ranger had asked me to buy the bonds agency with him. With all of the drama surrounding Thanksgiving, quite frankly I'd forgotten all about the business proposal.

Obviously Joe hadn't.

Edgy and worn out from his interminably long day, he took another step forward, and Ranger's coiled body prepared to spring.

Slapping a hand on Joe's chest, I lowered my voice to a hiss. "We are _not _getting into any of that right now. You are here to do a job, Morelli, so stop being a husband and start being a detective." I then rounded toward my former mentor. "And you—"

One corner of Ranger's mouth lifted in amusement over my attempted feistiness, which only served to send my very tired and pregnant hormones off the chart.

"Don't pull this kind of bullshit, Ranger—not now," I commanded. "Just answer the goddamned question. Why are you here?"

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

Gloves in hand, I got to the kitchen doorway in time to here Stephanie blast Ranger. Watching the trio reminded me of just how fresh the wounds really were between all of them. It'd only been three weeks since we'd gathered in Dr. Hamilton's office and heard that Joe was the father of Stephanie's babies—not nearly enough time for any of them to work through all of their emotions.

I felt like an intruder in my own home.

"He's here because my father mistakenly hired him this morning to protect me from an alleged stalker I seemed to have picked up," I said calmly, stepping back into the room and handing Joe the gloves.

His face registered surprise when he accepted them. "Your father?"

"Heathcliff Sullivan—"

"_General _Heathcliff Sullivan," Ranger butted in. "Four star—Air Force."

Rolling my eyes at his interruption, I tipped my head and looked back at Joe. "I told you once that I'm from a large family. I have four older brothers and four younger—all of whom are in the Air Force in some capacity, as was I. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Not against a lunatic you aren't," Ranger snorted.

"I'm managing to deal with you, aren't I?"

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"What you're managing to do is piss me off," Ranger warned in a silky voice I recognized all too well. It was the voice he used with FTA's before he got ready to kick ass.

_But why was he so upset with Cheryl?_

They were acting exactly like they had that day at the hospital when Ranger interrupted Cheryl's visit with me, and again I wondered what had happened in the swamp to make them dislike one another so much. I knew Ranger better than anyone else in the room, which wasn't saying much, but it was clear to me he was off his game. The fact that he was wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt was the first clue, but it was more than that. He looked tired and stressed, angry and—oddly enough—uncertain.

"How do you know her father?" I questioned, flopping down onto the love seat in Cheryl's living area to wait for his answer. If I thought it appropriate, I probably would've gone horizontal instead.

Ranger's eyes narrowed as he took in my appearance and my attitude. On the one hand, he looked concerned and on the other he looked as though he'd like to ring my neck for asking him such a personal question and especially in front of Joe.

He exhaled loudly, answering very reluctantly, "Our paths crossed several times during my years with the military."

"He called you out of the blue? How did he know that you and Cheryl were acquaintances?" Joe cut in impatiently.

Ranger scowled. "He didn't. I ran into him at Logan yesterday morning when all the flights were cancelled due to the storm. He invited me to share the holiday with his family. It wasn't until I got there that I realized the Sullivan connection."

"What are the odds?" I said in amazement.

Joe wasn't nearly as impressed. "I still don't get it. What's all this business about a stalker?"

Cheryl spoke up. "When I left the hospital the night Stephanie was rescued, I came home to find a note stuck to my front door, basically insinuating that someone was coming for me. I brushed it off as a teenaged prank, and I believed that until last night when I received a threatening phone call."

I watched Joe slip into the familiarity and rhythm of his job and breathed a sigh of relief. Too much was at stake not to have my husband focused on the right thing rather than his anger over that business with the bonds office. I could tell he was anxious to get outside and investigate the heart, but we all needed to understand what was happening with Cheryl first.

"Did you recognize the voice?" I asked.

Cheryl shook her head. "It was an automated machine."

"The general and I both used our contacts and capabilities to have the call traced but were unsuccessful," Ranger continued. He paused to share a glance with Cheryl, and some sort of awareness sizzled between the two of them.

Odd.

My eyes narrowed in speculation.

Ranger went on, "Dr. Sullivan's boss Evan LeMaire has warned her about a former client named Javier Sanchez. The guy was recently released from prison for assaulting his landlady with a knife."

"I vaguely remember hearing something about that arrest awhile back," Joe acknowledged. He addressed Cheryl, "Do _you _consider him a threat?"

Biting her lip, Cheryl avoided Ranger's eyes when she responded.

"He called me Wednesday night at my parent's house."

"There's more," Ranger added gruffly, glaring at her. "General Sullivan learned form his contacts that this Sanchez's father was once under the command of Abdurajik Abubakar Janjalani."

"Of the Abu Sayyaf Group?" Joe confirmed.

Ranger seemed surprised he was aware of the militant group. "You've heard of him?"

My husband scowled. "I may be a civilian now, but I _can _read, Manoso. Everyone knows of the of the ASG."

_Uh no. No, they do not. I certainly had never heard of any of this._

Trying not to appear as ignorant as I felt, I looked at Cheryl. "That seems like a pretty weak link to me."

"Not if you add in the factor that General Sullivan was partially responsible for thwarting Janjalani's efforts," Ranger sniped.

"Oh—well, that does change things," I agreed weakly.

"Retribution," Joe mused.

"It's _only _speculative," Cheryl insisted. "It could be _anyone _who's behind this, but, being his only daughter, my father tends to be abnormally overprotective of me. In a moment of weakness this morning, he convinced me to allow _Mr. Manoso_ to provide security until this annoying little inconvenience is resolved, but I've already told him I've changed my mind."

_Would she be crazy enough to do that? And why? _Ranger was the best at protection—a fact I know only all too well. Something strange was definitely going on between those two.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_God, the woman was pissing me off! _That cavalier, unconcerned attitude of hers made me want to shake her senseless. For a fucking psychiatrist and former soldier, she was being ridiculously stupid regarding her own safety.

"And I've told _her_ that she has no say in letting me go. Her father hired me; I answer to him," I said coldly, refusing to look at her. "And it's a damned good thing I do, seeing as Dr. Headcase here can't seem to get it through her thick skull that when someone leaves you a human heart on your front doorstep, it's not a 'little inconvenience'. It's fucking life or death."

Cheryl ran both hands into her curls and stifled what sounded suspiciously like a growl. "Enough already. You're making me crazy!"

She dropped down onto the love seat next to Stephanie, and Morelli's face went white.

"What?" I demanded, looking at him like he'd lost his mind, which probably wasn't far from the truth. The guy had been like a walking time bomb the past two weeks.

"It wasn't Stephanie," he murmured. "It was _Cheryl_."

"What are you talking about?" _God, the guy drove me fucking nuts half the time. _What I would've given for Tank and my team of men.

"My case," he muttered to himself. "The girl whose heart is more than likely in that cooler. When I saw her for the first time Wednesday morning, it scared the shit out of me. She had the exact same coloring and long, curly hair as Stephanie, and it threw me at first."

"Wait—what case?"

"A stripper at Domino's was raped and murdered early Wednesday morning," he replied shortly. "Her heart was removed from her body."

I was tough, but the thought of someone willfully removing a heart from _anyone's _body made even my stomach turn.

"So what does that have to do with Stephanie?" I tried to keep my tone neutral, but it was damned hard. I was already concerned by how worn out she looked. Pregnancy seemed to be taking its toll on her.

Morelli shook his head. "It's not about Stephanie. I didn't think it was, but now I can _really _see that it wasn't."

"You're making no sense."

"I'm tired, but I'm making the most sense I have all day. See for yourself," he retorted, gesturing to where the two women sat side-by-side on the love seat—two women with the same fair coloring and long, curly hair.

_Oh fuck._

While they were vastly different looking, if you were strictly going by the basic descriptors, they were practically twins.

_But what did it mean? Had Javier Sanchez killed the stripper? Why, and, if so, how did it link with Cheryl? Or was some other lunatic on the loose?_

I shared a pointed look with Morelli. "We need to talk."

His face twisted in response, as he yanked his phone from his pocket. "You're damned right we do, and _I_ need to call in a field unit. We're wasting valuable time."

Cheryl studied Morelli calmly. "Do you honestly think your murder case is linked to me, Joe?"

* * *

**Joe's POV**

I hated how uncomfortable I felt every time she addressed me. She'd been such a huge support with helping me to navigate the minefields of my childhood as well as the nightmare of Stephanie's abduction. I genuinely liked Cheryl, and it pissed me off that my pride so stubbornly refused to accept the fact I'd shown vulnerability with her. It was childish and stupid, but it didn't change the fact.

I was embarrassed.

Forcing myself to meet her gaze, I answered truthfully, "I do." My next statement was even tougher to admit. "And I agree with Manoso that you need some form of protection until we can get a handle on this situation."

She bristled, and I quickly added, "I understand you have defensive skills of your own—"

"I'm an _expert_ in martial arts."

"Great—" I nodded, "but that's no match against a gun."

"_Exactly _what I said," Ranger cut in with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes. Manoso's ginormous ego made mine look pea-sized in comparison.

"Whether that protection comes from Rangeman or the TPD is up to you, but _someone _needs to be providing you with back-up," I stressed, concentrating my attention on Cheryl.

"Are you thinking a safe house?" Stephanie asked on Cheryl's behalf. She sat slumped in one corner of the love seat, her head propped up by her elbow.

Though equally concerned about the situation, my wife was getting paler by the minute. It was pushing Midnight, and I needed to find a way for her to get home soon.

"It'll take some hoop jumping and a whole hell of a lot of paperwork, but, yes, we'd be able to set you up in a safe house probably sometime tomorrow."

"A safe house," Cheryl echoed dully.

"The department will arrange to have the house guarded twenty-four seven until this thing is finished."

"What about my job? I have clients—"

"We don't have the manpower to escort you back and forth, plus it wouldn't be safe," I answered honestly. "You'd be in isolation until the case is solved."

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

_God, what a mess!_

As a woman who prided herself on independence, I couldn't stomach the thought of being holed up in some dingy house with complete strangers. And yet, I also knew I'd been fooling myself into believing the situation had simply been blown out of proportion. I _was _in danger. The part I struggled with was whether it really was Javier stalking me or someone else.

_But who?_

My eyes unwillingly shifted to Ranger, whose expression was unreadable.

"If you protect me, can I stay here?" I asked, irritated to even be asking the question after the fuss I'd put up over _not _wanting his protection.

He shook his head. "No way. This place is completely unsecure."

"Where would I go then?"

He smiled wickedly, like a shark smelling blood. "I have a number of apartments at Rangeman—"

"No—I don't want to stay at your place."

The vehemence in my voice caught him off guard. "Why the hell not?"

"You run your business there, don't you?" I challenged. "Your men will be everywhere."

"So?"

"I've lived with the male species before," I responded. "I have eight brothers, remember? I'm not up for being the only woman among a building full of strange men."

"So you want the TPD safe house then?" Joe assumed.

My temper flashed. "No! I don't want _any _of it. I want to be able to go to work and the gym and shopping and out to dinner. I have research for my book to do, and—"

"Oh, there's a brilliant idea," Ranger scoffed. "Go back to frequenting seedy bars, so you can _really _get yourself killed."

Joe and Stephanie shared a questioning look with one another—more than likely wondering what kind of book had me going to seedy bars in the first place _and _why Stephanie's former lover knew I was going to them.

_Damn it! _Unwanted tears of frustration welled in my eyes. I almost _never _cried—not since I sobbed buckets of tears over Mac's betrayal before our wedding. I'd vowed then to never allow another man to reduce me to tears. But this had been the longest day I could ever remember, and unfortunately I was no longer in control of my emotions.

_Why was Ranger being such a jerk?_

My subconscious none so gently reminded me it was because I'd been pretty much a bitch for the past hour or more.

"I won't stay at Rangeman," I insisted stubbornly.

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

_You idiot, Carlos!_

_Why the hell did you mention that night at The Pokey? Now Morelli and Stephanie are even more curious than they were before, and you don't need their inquisition on top of everything else._ It was already awkward as hell being in the same room with Stephanie and Cheryl at the same time—let alone having Morelli's sharp-eyed cop gaze trying to read my every thought.

Worse yet, Cheryl was holding back tears, and there was _nothing _that caused a man to lose his sense of judgment more than a woman in tears.

_Shit._

Without thinking, I made a snap decision.

"I have another place where we can stay," I muttered almost resentfully, not even sure who I was angry with—Cheryl or me.

"Where?" Morelli challenged immediately. He was itching to call his team and get things rolling outside.

"Never mind for now, but I'll need until tomorrow to have it ready for use." Shooting Cheryl a glance, I added, "Which means you'll have to go to Rangeman for the night."

Stephanie, who'd been unusually quiet, spoke up. "She can stay with us until tomorrow."

Morelli shot her an annoyed look. "She can?"

She shrugged. "We have a spare bed."

I immediately protested. "Your place isn't secure—"

"Oh for God's sake, Ranger," Stephanie snapped exasperatedly. "Joe's a friggin' cop. Cheryl will be fine with us for one night." Her tone eased slightly. "That way you can go to Rangeman and take care of things."

"Only one problem, Cupcake," Joe indicated. "I won't be there to provide the protection. I'll be here with my team."

She shot up in her seat. "That's crazy. You've been working for seventeen hours straight! You need sleep."

"We _all _need sleep," he retorted edgily, "but I'm the lead detective on this case, and I need to be here."

"Fine," she huffed, flouncing back against the pillows. "Then have Ranger take Cheryl and me home. He can stay there until you get back." She turned to me. "Or if you're too tired, have one of your men come, but let's do _something_, because I'm getting bitchy—and hungry."

"_Dr. Sullivan _hasn't even said yes yet," I pointed out sarcastically, amused by Stephanie's petulance. "Although, her opinion doesn't really matter. I made a promise to her father."

I'd said the words to snap her out of whatever funk she'd slipped into, and I knew I succeeded when she glared at me. Smiling internally, I was relieved to see her watery eyes dry up. Her perpetual feistiness truly was the greatest turn on for me. Sparring with her made me feel more alive than I had since—

_Since when?_

Certainly not with Stephanie. While she would give me guff upon occasion, she'd been too in awe of me as a bounty hunter to really go up against me as a man. In fact, she probably gave me more lip now as a married woman than she ever had during our years of association.

No, I hadn't been challenged like this since Aaliyah, and wasn't that just a kick in the teeth. The only other woman who'd dare to defy me was the very one Cheryl's brother had in his own way helped to kill.

Funny how that realization didn't change the fact I was still incredibly attracted to his sister.

"Either you're in all the way on this or not, Zoomie," I said, my ruminations causing my tone to soften more than I intended.

The Morellis stared with undisguised interest, and I mentally berated myself for allowing the nickname to slip out.

Embarrassed, I added gruffly, "What's it going to be, _Dr. Sullivan_?"

She looked at me uncertainly. "Will I be able to work?"

Had she asked the question in that prissy tone she'd been using since we kissed, I would've automatically said no. However, one look at her, and I changed my mind. Any idiot could see she was scared and overwhelmed and more than a little lost.

"We'll talk about it later," I said dismissively yet not unkindly. I wasn't about to say more with Hart to Hart over there listening to our every word.

Stephanie yawned. "Good. It's settled. Go pack a bag, Cheryl, so we can go. I'm dragging here."

Looking as though she'd already like to change her mind, my charge finally gave in.

"I have what I need in my suitcase in the car," she acknowledged.

I caught Morelli's eye. "You need to talk to me?"

"I do, but right now it's more important that Steph get home. Can you take Cheryl's car though? I'll need ours, and I really don't want Stephanie to have to endure that smell anymore."

_What could've possibly happened to her tonight to warrant that abhorrent smell of manure?_

Knowing Stephanie, the possibilities where endless, so I looked at the two women instead. "Let's get going."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"Go ahead and get Cheryl in the car. I'll bring Stephanie out in a second," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.

A brief moment of what might've been considered resentment glittered in Ranger's eyes, but then he looked at Cheryl and jerked his head toward the door.

The guy was just plain weird. As long as I lived, I'd never understand what in the hell Stephanie had seen in him. Whatever it was, I'd bet my badge on the fact that Cheryl saw it too for she flushed slightly under his gaze.

_Yeesh._

Cheryl paused as she moved past me toward the door.

"Thanks, Joe. I know this isn't easy for you—"

"It's fine," I assured her quickly, not wanting anything more said in front of Ranger. My brain didn't need the additional stress of thinking about my family. No, what my brain really needed was a big cup of coffee with about four espresso shots in it.

I'd no sooner closed the door behind them than Stephanie said, "Is it just me, or is something weird going on between those two?"

"Hunh—far as I'm concerned, anything Manoso does is weird," I grunted dismissively, "but you're right. What the hell was with him calling her 'Zoomie'?"

She closed her eyes reflectively. "He called her that in my hospital room too."

"When? Where was I?"

"The day after the rescue. You were at the precinct, and Ranger showed up while Cheryl was visiting me. Sparks flew between them then too."

An undesired current of jealousy brought on by flat out exhaustion hit me. "And did that bother you?"

Stephanie caught on right away. "No! I'm just saying it's odd. I've never seen Ranger this emotional. He's usually so unflappable. And Cheryl—"

"I really wish you hadn't invited her to stay."

_Crap. _I hadn't meant to blurt that out quite so bluntly.

"Why not?" Stephanie's eyes widened. "I like her, and so do you, right? She's done a lot to help us both—"

"I know what she's done, Steph, but it's awkward."

"Why?"

I'd never told her about my breakdown with Cheryl in the helicopter, and I wasn't ready to do it then either.

Walking over, I hunched down in front of where she still sat on the love seat.

"Do you need help to the car?" I asked, quietly shifting topics.

She shook her head wearily. "I can make it." Pausing, she gave me a half smile. "You're changing the subject on purpose."

"Am I?"

She snorted. "I'm too tired to argue, but I _am _really pissed at you, Mr. Morelli."

My eyebrow lifted in amusement. She really was so damned beautiful. "Yeah? And why's that, Mrs. Morelli?"

"Because you're going to kill yourself with this unrelenting pace of yours. When are you going to realize you can't be all things to all people?" Her voice and expression were both deadly serious.

Choosing to ignore her concern, I joked lightly, "Well, then we're even, because I'm pretty ticked at you too, Mrs. Morelli."

That surprised her. Sitting up, she leaned toward me. "And why is that, Mr. Morelli?"

"Don't think just because we got sidetracked with this business here that I've forgotten about your earlier escapades tonight. It makes me sick to even think about what could've happened to you or the babies."

Reaching out, she placed a hand over my cheek. "I said I was sorry."

"I know you are, Steph," I acknowledged, covering her hand with my own, "but it scares me that you're not taking this pregnancy seriously. I'd die if anything happened to the three of you. You're my whole world, Cupcake."

Her lips brushed against mine. "And you're mine. I promise you I'm taking this pregnancy _very _seriously. Tonight just got a little out of hand—that's all."

I wanted to press even harder but what was the point. She was never going to regret her actions the way I wanted her to. The thrill of having sought revenge on Terry Gilman would far supersede anything I could ever say.

_Ah, to hell with it. _I was too tired to fight as well.

"Get some rest," I encouraged, helping her to stand. "And lock your bedroom door with Manoso there."

She rolled her eyes. "You're so _not_ funny. When will you be home?"

"Probably not until morning."

Her mouth set in a grim line. "And then you're going to bed for the day."

"We'll see," I murmured noncommittally. "Keep my spot warm for me, okay?"

Pulling her into my arms, I lowered my head and kissed her again.

"I love you, Joe," she whispered against my lips. "Be careful."

"I'm fine. This isn't the first time I've had to work a twenty-four shift, you know."

"Yes, but you've had so much stress lately. I'm worried about you."

"Worrying is _my_ job," I cracked. Giving her a light tap on the ass, I said, "Let's get you home, Cupcake."

I helped her out to the car, gave her one last kiss, and then walked around to the driver's side. Once Manoso had the window down, I leaned in so only he could hear.

"You've had a long day too. Are you sure you're able to stay alert?"

He gave me his usual enigmatic stare. "Are you questioning my abilities? Better question your own."

I shook my head. "Whatever. I'll touch base with you in the morning to get your statement and compare notes."

"Fine."

"And at some point _we're_ going to have to chat about the way you manipulated my wife behind my back."

"I'd never manipulate _your wife_," he responded snidely.

I snorted. "You've done nothing _but _manipulate her."

He continued to stare at me without blinking. "Later."

"Mmmmm hmmmm," I muttered and stepped back to allow them to leave. No sooner had they pulled away from the apartment, than I had my cell phone out to dial dispatch.

"Morelli here," I said when they answered. Quickly relaying the need for an investigative team and Manny Rodriguez, I hung up and closed my eyes briefly.

It was going to be a long night.


	12. Chapter 12

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Happy Monday, friends! So excited to finally be able to launch another chapter after weeks filled with MUCH research, constant writing and unfortunately plenty of rewriting too. LOL!

Perhaps some of you won't like this chapter, as it is strictly from Ranger's POV and focuses almost entirely on his past. The mysterious Aaliyah finally makes an appearance, and we begin to see the initial reasons for Ranger's hatred toward Mac Colburn. Ranger's past is an integral part of the whole story, thus the need to devote an entire chapter to just that. Despite being a Cupcake, I'm very intrigued by his character. What follows is my interpretation of what may have been the past we never have been allowed to know in the actual books.

While I did much research, I am by no means an expert on the military, Iraq or anything else presented in this chapter. Also, I hope it goes without saying that many of the viewpoints expressed by the characters are NOT my own personal viewpoints. Oh, and while many of the events described in the chapter come from real life, other than Hussein, the characters are all of my creation.

It ALSO goes without saying that I needed a lot of support on this one. Thankfully, my super amazing betas, Julie and Kim, took it up a notch and gave me excellent insight and advice. I'm truly grateful, girls.

Enjoy your week!

* * *

Chapter Twelve

**Ranger's POV**

4:20 a.m.

_Heh—heh—heh—heh_

Warm, extremely bad breath blew across the skin of my cheek, and I managed to pull back before Morelli's beast licked my nose with his ninety foot long tongue.

"Either get the hell out of my face or I shoot you, dog. It's that simple."

Shooting me a mournful look, the monstrous creature hopped off the couch, circled three times and plopped down at the foot of the stairs with an exaggerated sigh.

It'd been like that all night—ever since Stephanie had insisted the dumb mutt stay downstairs with me in order to supposedly stand guard. _Right. Like that was going to happen._ I had no doubt the disgusting creature would lead any intruder directly to the sterling silver—if the Morellis had such a thing—as well as the two women sleeping upstairs. I also had no doubt Stephanie had stuck me with the damned thing so she could get a decent night's sleep.

Not that I _would've_ slept without his presence. On the contrary, I was determined to remain awake until Morelli returned. It would've been nice though not having an orange, hairy monster breathing in my face every five fucking minutes.

God knows I needed to sleep. I hadn't since Wednesday night, and despite my years of military training in sleep deprivation, I was out of practice. From that perspective, I guess Bill or Bud or whatever the hell the fur ball's name was doing his job. He most certainly was keeping me from crashing on Morelli's couch.

It felt weird to be sitting in the living room of my most annoying nemesis, especially knowing Stephanie was asleep right at the top of the stairs. Even weirder was knowing my thoughts weren't necessarily occupied by that particular notion. Rather, my _body_ was focused on Cheryl sleeping in the _other _room at the top of the stairs. The memory of our kiss had kept me awake most of the night—a damned far more appealing companion than the dog.

But it wasn't just the kiss that kept replaying through my brain. It was the entire conversation between Cheryl and me prior to the arrival of Morelli and Stephanie.

Scratch that.

It was one _particular_ exchange:

_"Then what? What is it?" she pressed, moving closer toward me. "Is it some kind of military payback for my father? Do you owe him something—?"_

_Immediately my blood began to burn with memories of the past and exactly what Cheryl's brother Stephen and his buddy Mac had cost me._

_I very nearly spat in her face._

_"I owe your family __NOTHING__."_

The memory of _WHY _I owed her family nothing was what had me wide-awake and obsessed.

* * *

**January 5, 1999**

**U.S. Camp Doha, Kuwait**

"Watch where the fuck you're stepping, Cherry," an annoyed voice sounded from behind me.

Turning, I saw the body attached to the voice sitting at the foot of a cot reading a manual of some kind. In passing, I'd inadvertently hit his leg with my oversized duffle bag.

"Sorry, man," I replied, hefting the bag onto my shoulder and out of the way. "No harm meant."

The guy's demeanor screamed of blue-blooded veins and plenty of money. Looking me over critically, his disdain was obvious. _Shit. _I'd only arrived on base thirty minutes earlier with all the other recent grads from Fort Stewart. I couldn't afford to piss anyone off yet.

Arching his eyebrow, he fairly sneered. "I'm not your _man, _Private. That's Second Lieutenant to you."

The guy was a real jerk, yet I immediately dropped my bag and saluted. "Yes, sir. My apologies, sir—I didn't see your uniform."

He rose to his feet slowly. Tall like me, he gave my nametag a cursory glance and moved until we stood eye to eye.

"Manoso?"

"Yes sir." I saluted again, eyeing his badge discreetly as well. "Lieutenant Colburn, sir."

His eyes narrowed. "Where are you from, Manoso?"

"Newark via Miami via Fort Stewart, sir."

"What—Mexican? Puerto Rican?" He screwed up his face as though smelling something offensive.

"No sir. Cuban."

Never blinking, he shrugged. "What's the difference?"

My blood pumped a little harder, but I managed to swallow my annoyance. "I apologize for bumping into you, Lieutenant. I'll be sure to watch where I'm going from now on, sir."

He took another step closer. "You do that, Private. You be sure to watch yourself—period. That includes staying the hell out of my way. Got it? You cherries have no idea what it's like over here. We don't need a bunch of newbies getting us all killed."

The guy obviously had massive issues to warrant this kind of attack, because I'd barely touched him. My free hand fisted discreetly at my side, and I forced myself to relax.

_Don't fly off the handle, Carlos. That's the old you—the young punk—the street fighter. Look what your lack of self-control got you as a kid—time in Juvie. Well, shithead, prison would be a hell of a lot worse. You tried the college scene, and, man, that's not you either. But the Army is. You're fucking nineteen years old. Here's your chance to show the world—and Papa—what Carlos Manoso is really made of._

I swallowed hard. "No sir. Your advice is duly noted, sir."

Colburn's steely eyes bored into mine. "I don't like the looks of you, Manoso. You've got arrogance and defiance written all over you."

_He was probably right, but then again, didn't all soldiers worth a damn have massive egos?_

He opened his mouth to say more, but then changed his mind, jerking his head toward the other end of the barracks instead. "Get out of my face. Just remember—I'll be watching your every move."

Forcing myself to salute, I refused to break eye contact. "Yes sir."

Thirty seconds later I dropped my gear at the foot of a cot on the other end of the long room. An enormous African American dude was sprawled on the makeshift bed next to mine reading what looked to be a letter from home.

His eyes never left the page in front of him as he grunted in a slight southern drawl, "Colburn's an ass. Get used to it."

For whatever reason the simple words eased the knot in my stomach.

"You've had run-ins with him?" I questioned casually, unzipping my bag and pulling out a stack of white t-shirts.

"Nope, but that don't mean he likes me anymore than you," the giant responded in quiet, perfectly measured syllables. His eyes flicked toward mine. "I'm too dark to suit him—and so are you."

I heard the message loud and clear.

"Got it—thanks." Sticking out my hand, I added, "Carlos Manoso."

"Pierre Carson," he responded, nearly crushing my fingers in his strong grip. "Call me Pierre, and I'll hurt you—badly."

I wasn't about to challenge him. The dude was built like a fucking tank.

"No problem—Tank."

His ebony eyes narrowed for one split second before he guffawed loudly. "Welcome to Doha, Carlos."

Acknowledging the greeting with a slight nod, I asked, "You been here long?"

Tank shifted on the cot. "Going on four months."

"You were here for the action then," I observed enviously, referring to Operation Desert Fox. Opening the trunk at the foot of the bed, I began to organize my belongings carefully.

"That's right," Tank agreed lazily. He noticed the gleam of anticipation in my eye and sat up. "Don't be gettin' all excited, Manoso. This ain't playtime over here, you know."

For some reason, I took offense to his tone. _Couldn't he see I was yanking at the chain for action after weeks of basic training and supplementary preparation? _Being at Camp Doha was merely the first step on my way toward the ultimate dream—to be part of the elite Army Rangers.

"I'm not here to play," I answered determinedly.

Tank snorted out another laugh. "I can see that. You look ready to bite the head off the next person you come in contact with." His smile dimmed. "Just don't let it be Mac Colburn you try to bite. He'll chew you up and spit you out before you even get in a nip."

I sat down on my cot. "What's his story?"

"West Point grad—'97. He's a Ranger on loan to the camp for six months."

"On loan?"

Tank nodded. "The guy's an expert in electronics. He's here to train and supervise folks on the latest equipment."

"Is that normal procedure?"

"Nope. But like I said—the guy is a fuckin' genius when it comes to all things electronic." He frowned. "He's also a fuckin' nutcase. Comes and goes off base as he pleases. I've been watchin' from a distance, and I advise you to stand clear of him. He has an agenda, only he hasn't chosen to share it with the rest of us yet."

"No problem," I muttered, shoving my duffle bag under the cot. "I've got my own agenda."

**February 5, 1999**

**U.S. Camp Doha, Kuwait**

"Shut the door, Private Manoso."

"Yes sir." My hand was so sweaty it nearly slipped off the handle, and I quickly saluted to cover my nerves.

"At ease, Private."

"Thank you sir." I was still trying to figure out why I'd been summoned.

Colonel Josiah Franklin, one of the higher-ups at Doha, motioned toward the chair in front of his desk, and I sat down tensely. Tall and imposing, he was a hulking figure—even in his late fifties—with a reputation for being not only shrewd but unconventional as well. One thing was for certain—if he said jump, you didn't even pause to ask 'how high'. You simply took a fucking leap.

He wasted no time in getting to the point of our meeting.

"You've been in camp for about a month now, Manoso—correct?"

Clearing my throat, I responded, "Yes sir."

"Settling in okay?"

"No complaints, sir."

"Good." His gaze was bold and penetrating. "Your superiors at Fort Stewart made sure to let me know you had an impressive stint in basic training."

_Shit, what was this about?_

"Uh—that was kind, sir."

He continued, "Not only did you score well, but you showed tremendous aptitude in several key areas."

Not knowing what to say, I didn't respond. Meanwhile. Colonel Franklin tented his fingers over the bridge of his nose and pondered his next move.

"You show a strong talent for electronics. Lieutenant Colburn has made a point of letting me know you've excelled in the training he's done here in camp so far."

That was surprising news. Colburn had been nothing but an asshole since our first run-in.

The Colonel must've sensed my thoughts for one corner of his mouth lifted. "He also made a point of letting me know he thinks you're a loose cannon, and that he doesn't trust you as far as he can spit."

My jaw hardened, and Franklin smirked. "You seem to have made your first enemy in the military, Private. Care to explain?"

"I don't know that I can. On my first day here, I accidentally bumped into him with my gear. For whatever reason, that offended him, and I've been on his—excuse me, sir—shit list ever since."

Colonel Franklin leaned back in his swivel chair.

"As you've more than likely heard, the Lieutenant is not a permanent part of our operation. He's with the 3rd Ranger Battalion currently on furlough back home. Because of his expertise in electronic communications, he's on loan to us for a period of six months to provide training in several key reconnaissance areas."

"You know him well, sir?"

"I know his reputation. He's a West Point graduate, who has quickly climbed the ranks. His skills are superlative." Seeing the look on my face, he continued quietly. "He's also a demanding, hotheaded leader with a strong need for control. It's part of what makes him an excellent Ranger, yet it can be a problem as well when that leadership is misused."

I must've looked as confused as I felt, for he added, "I have no reason to believe his negative assessment of you, Private."

One sentence and breathing became a whole lot easier.

"I appreciate that, sir."

"In fact, just the opposite. I'd like to talk with you about a potentially life altering assignment."

My heart began a slow dance in my chest.

"I'm listening."

Franklin's steel-blue eyes bored into mine. "Are you aware of what the Army's responsibility was last month during Desert Fox?"

"Yes sir—to help defend Kuwait and to reassure our allies here in the Persian Gulf following Iraq's attack on ally aircraft."

"Correct. But while the immediate crisis seems to have cooled, it is no secret that Hussein is insane. There's also no question he's already plotting his next move against his enemies here in the Middle East." The Colonel's gaze sharpened. "Some suggest perhaps his anger is becoming more focused upon the United States as well."

"Yes sir," I responded in a hushed tone. I had no idea where he was going with all this, but the seriousness of the conversation wasn't lost on me.

"Manoso, the rest of this meeting is now considered classified. You are to discuss this with no one outside these four walls. Understood?"

"Yes sir." I worked to steady my pulse. "You can trust me."

"So I've been told." He hesitated again. "Recent intelligence has led us to a woman—the daughter of one of Hussein's higher ups. It appears she may be willing to provide us with some valuable information regarding Saddam's future plans."

The idea seemed almost ludicrous, and I wasn't quite able to hide my disbelief.

"Forgive me, sir. But why would she do that?"

He shrugged. "There's any number of reasons why she'd offer her assistance. Money, Daddy rebellion, the thrill of intrigue—take your pick."

"And the intelligence? How could she possibly have gained that kind of sensitive information?"

"Women are treated like shit in Iraq, Carlos. No matter how their government tries to sugarcoat it, they always have been. It's very likely the girl was asked to serve during meetings between her father and Hussein. Because of their low opinion of women, the men would never think a mere girl could be smart enough to understand—let alone act upon what she overheard."

The Colonel rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his chin contemplatively.

"It's entirely possible a young, modern woman like Aaliyah would see this as an opportunity to thumb her nose at those who repress her. Perhaps she desires to be more than just another statistic."

"Aaliyah?"

"Aaliyah Alghafari—daughter of Jofar Alghafari. The father is part of Saddam Hussein's inner circle."

He opened a folder and slid a grainy photo of a young woman in front of me. Only her face was visible beneath the hood of her abaya, a loose fitting robe. The part that _was _visible revealed an absolutely stunning Iraqi girl. Long, black, curly hair peeked out from beneath her hood, framing a surprisingly light-skinned, angelic-looking face. A flawless complexion and deep brown eyes stared back at me.

"She's young," I observed stupidly, curious at the jumpy feeling in my stomach.

"Nineteen—same age as you."

The pink, pouty lips in the picture taunted me. Forcing myself to concentrate, I looked at the Colonel. "And you're certain she wants to talk?"

"No."

His response caught me off guard. "Do you think she can be trusted?"

"No."

At the blank expression on my face, Colonel Franklin barked out a laugh. "If you haven't already learned, Manoso—_no one _can be trusted." Shifting in his seat, he continued, "However, I think the stakes are rapidly becoming too high _not _to feel her out."

_Was he asking what I thought he was asking?_

From the way he studied me, I knew he was anticipating my next move. I didn't keep him waiting long.

"How can I help, sir?"

His eyes gleamed. "I'd like to send you to Baghdad to meet with her. See what you can find out."

"Why me?" I blurted.

Excited as I was at the possibility of doing more than grunt work in camp, I couldn't imagine why they were talking to me. I was fresh out of basic training. The idea I could do intelligence work of this magnitude was crazy!

"Excellent question," he noted approvingly. "I realize you're young and fresh, but as I said, your superiors at Fort Stewart advised us of your above normal skill in a number of key areas." His lips twitched. "Evidently, you made it clear during basic training that you have an interest in becoming a Ranger. True?"

My back straightened. "Yes sir."

"Good. You might consider this a test of whether or not you'd be the right fit for that level of service."

My heart felt like it might thump right out of my chest. "That's why you're asking me? To see if I'm Ranger material?"

"Yes—plus the fact your ethnicity is a better fit for blending in among the Iraqi people."

My excitement dimmed instantly.

"Wait—you're using me because of my skin tone?"

"Partially." The Colonel didn't appear embarrassed in the least. "I don't dare risk putting one of our white soldiers in such a volatile area, and African Americans aren't treated well in Iraq. With the right disguise, you can be passed off as a student from another Middle Eastern country."

"Why another country?"

"It's safer. If you come from another location in Iraq, the chance is too great someone might have relatives in the same city or village and try to place you."

"Surely I'm not the only person in camp with the right melanin."

"Anyone else with an ethnic background like yours didn't score high enough in the skill areas required for the job," the Colonel answered bluntly.

I didn't know whether to be insulted or grateful.

Colonel Franklin continued as if he'd said nothing that could be construed as inappropriate. "Do this job correctly, Manoso, and you've virtually guaranteed yourself a spot at Fort Benning for Ranger School."

No longer starry-eyed and dazzled, I settled back in my seat. "What would my cover be?"

"You'd be in Baghdad as an engineering student from India doing a semester exchange."

"India! I'm Cuban. What about my accent?"

"You'd be trained accordingly. Listen, I have an apartment in downtown Baghdad where you'd stay, and down the street is a coffee house where you'd meet with Aaliyah."

"Coffee?" I echoed doubtfully.

Colonel Franklin nodded. "Alcohol isn't illegal in Iraq, but it _is_ frowned upon by the Muslims. No sense in getting caught up in a religious mess when I have connections in a more advantageous location."

"I'm confused." A million questions raced through my mind. "What connections? How would this woman know to look for me? What would I say to her? What about—"

"Private Manoso."

Stopping abruptly, I took note of the Colonel's no-nonsense tone. "Yes sir."

"All of your questions will be answered, and you'll be thoroughly briefed. All I need is a simple yes or no. Are you in?"

Something didn't feel right about the whole set-up. I wasn't getting much information, and I certainly could think of a hell of a lot of reasons why I should say 'no'. But the _one _reason to say 'yes' was huge. I wanted to be an Army Ranger more than anything.

"Yes sir. Count me in."

**April 17, 1999**

**Baghdad, Iraq**

Stepping inside of what had become a familiar hole in the wall to me, my nose was immediately assaulted by the smell of stale cigarette smoke, boiled peanuts and a men's room that needed a good cleaning. My dress shoes made sucking noises as I walked over the sticky floor to face a short, squat man in his early fifties. Like me, he wore a white button-down oxford rolled at the sleeves and a pair of black, silk pants.

"Rhavi."

"Mundhir," I replied, easing onto a torn, vinyl-covered barstool.

"Black?" he asked in Arabic, pulling a coffee pot off of a stove behind the old wooden counter.

"Of course."

I responded in Arabic as well, making sure my words showed a trace of Hindi accent for anyone who might be listening. It'd taken nearly two months of eating and sleeping with Rosetta Stone, but I was pretty damned proud of how I'd learned enough of Iraq's and India's primary tongues to get by.

My new identity was that of Rhavi Singh, an engineering student from New Delhi, who was on a three–month semester exchange at the University of Baghdad. Of course, the whole thing was a front. In reality, I'd been in the city for slightly less than two weeks, and during that time, I'd spent the majority of my days in a one-room flop reviewing every detail of my cover and trying to prepare myself for whatever unexpected surprises awaited me on this rather nebulous mission I'd been given.

Instructed to become a familiar face among the locals, I showed up every night at the coffee house Colonel Franklin had said would be down the street from my apartment. I soon learned there was good reason to frequent that particular locale. Mundhir Ali, the proprietor, had been an informant for the United States for the past two years. His joint had been used for many clandestine meetings between U.S. forces and our enemies in the Persian Gulf—as well as our allies. Oddly enough, his name meant 'warner' or 'cautioner', which is what I hoped he'd do if he saw me getting into trouble.

Well aware that many eyes would be upon me as a foreigner and that women in Iraq were closely watched as well, the plan was for Mundhir to introduce me to Aaliyah Alghafari as his cousin. Her cover was that of a young woman interested in pursuing engineering in college against her father's wishes.

"Alone again, Rhavi?" Mundhir brought me back to the present with his loud voice. He slid a glass of obscenely strong, ink-black liquid in front of me. "Here two weeks, and still I never see you on the street with a woman."

Shamil, an elderly gentleman seated nearby, removed his tobacco-stained lips from his hookah and asked pointedly, "Why you come to this place anyway, boy? Why not go to the coffee joints near the university with the other young people? We're nothing but old men here."

The rumbling laughter of several men let me know I had an audience.

I shrugged unaffectedly. "This is closer to where I'm staying."

Mundhir eyed my naked ring finger. "Who cares where he gets his coffee, Shamil. I want to know where he gets his pleasure. You got a girl back home?"

My nervous system went on full alert at his words. It was his way of letting me know Aaliyah was prepared to meet with me that night for the first time.

I lit a cigarette and blew smoke in Mundhir's face. "No time. Too busy with school."

Mundhir let out a guttural laugh, making sure to include everyone within earshot with his next words. "Too busy for a woman? What the fuck? You don't like women?"

Another large table of locals overheard and began to snigger as well.

"Tell him to go down to the street market. He'll find plenty of women for sale there," one old man growled through a cloud of cigarette smoke. His companion slapped his back approvingly at the idea.

"Why bother?" scoffed another. "He's already _at_ the university with plenty of foolish women. They're as good as whores!"

A chorus of agreement filled the room.

Mundhir smirked at my feigned discomfort. "Think you might like a whore, Rhavi?"

Allowing just enough interest to be shown, I smiled. "Perhaps."

"I've got one for you," he offered casually.

"Yeah?" I jeered. "Who—your daughter?"

"No—my cousin," he responded matter-of-factly. "A _distant _cousin. She's been promised to the son of a wealthy businessman, but she's talking fucking nonsense about wanting to go to college instead."

"I thought arranged marriages were a thing of the past."

"Not if you're Muslim," he responded cryptically. "India is the same way—no?" He didn't wait for my response. "Her father wants me to talk sense into her."

The other patrons hooted their approval.

"You tell her, Mundhir!" a grey-bearded man, whose name I didn't know, approved. "Make her see a woman has no business getting an education."

_God, these MEN were pigs—every last one of them. _

Mundhir sensed my disgust and gave me a subtle look. My superiors back at Camp Doha had crafted our entire conversation. It was a way for me to make initial contact with Aaliyah without raising suspicion among the locals.

Playing my role, I pasted on a look that flirted with boredom. "Why the hell would you want _me_—a foreigner—near your cousin?"

"Because you're of the same age, plus you're a student at the university. You know what the atmosphere is like there. Who better to help her understand she shouldn't get mixed up in that political cesspool? Her place is in a home with a husband and children."

The catcalls continued.

"That's right!"

"Tell her, Mundhir!"

"But _mostly_," he added, "you're not family. She's not listening to family right now. Perhaps she'll listen to you."

I pretended to mull his offer. "What exactly is it you want from me?"

Mundhir leaned his elbows on the bar. "Your influence. Many in your country view a woman's position in the same way as my family. Help my cousin to see how dangerous it is for a young girl to seek intellectual independence without a man to protect her."

"You mean the rest of the world doesn't ridicule a women for trying to broaden her mind?" I asked facetiously. "What's wrong with them?"

The entire room exploded with mirth.

Trying to hide my revulsion at their sick chauvinism, I got back on point.

"What's in it for me?"

Mundhir frowned and said firmly, "No sex. She must remain pure for her husband to be."

I snorted. "What the hell's the point then? I thought we were talking about finding me a whore?"

"We are." His eyes gleamed. "I have _another_ cousin, and that one _is _a whore."

The gallery burst into another round of raucous laughter. The entertaining conversation had more men joining us around the counter.

Ignoring them, I took another drag on my cigarette. "So you're saying I meet with your cousin, convince her not to go to college, and in return, you give me your _other_ cousin to sleep with?"

"That's right. What do you say, Rhavi?" Mundhir baited me, leaning across the counter to stick his head in my face. "You game?"

It was show time.

I shrugged and casually tamped out the cigarette.

"Why the hell not?" Holding up my hand, I quickly added, "Provided your _other_ cousin is worth it."

Mundhir nodded slowly. "She won't disappoint."

"All right. Then where's the girl—the one I'm to convince?"

"I'll call her now," the man I was relying upon answered with a slick smile. "Find a seat. It shouldn't take her long to come."

"You can't allow a woman in here!" Shamil complained, banging his hookah for emphasis.

Mundhir rose to his full height, which wasn't saying much and glowered at his elderly customer. "I do as I please, Shamil, and don't you forget that."

Rolling my eyes, I lit another cigarette. I abhorred the damned things, but smoking was huge in Iraq, and it was part of the cover.

No more than fifteen minutes passed before a female entered the coffee house. Her entire body and face were masked by an abaya, yet it was obvious she was Mundhir's 'cousin'.

The man himself hailed her from his command post at the counter. "Naba!"

All the other men in the place craned their necks to get a look at the girl they thought I was using as a stepping-stone for getting laid. Their disapproval of her presence in the coffee house was blatant, and they cast angry scowls in her direction. The whole scenario was really almost laughable. _How could any of these men believe the crap we were feeding them? _

"Foolish girl! Go home and wait for a husband," Shamil taunted.

"If I were a younger man, I'd marry her," one of his cronies observed. "It's been a long time since I've seen young breasts—"

"Enough!" Mundhir silenced them angrily.

The infamous Aaliyah Alghafari bowed her head slightly to her 'cousin', as he came out from behind the counter to hug her. He then led her over to where I'd secured a small table in a relatively quiet corner of the room.

"Rhavi, this is my cousin Naba Jabbar."

Shamil's gaze narrowed suspiciously. "I don't know any Jabbar family with a Naba."

"Hush, old man!" Mundhir chastised. "I told you she is a _distant _cousin. Her family is new to Baghdad." Turning, he gestured toward me. "Naba, this is Rhavi Singh—the man I told you about on the phone."

Aaliyah bowed her head again and waited for me to motion for her to sit.

"I'll leave you two to talk," Mundhir offered loudly. "I'm sure you have much in common."

_Let's hope he was right. If what Colonel Franklin thought was true, the girl in front of me could be an instrumental key to the future security of both Iraq and the United States as well as an aid in securing a brighter future for myself._

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Naba," I said smoothly, ignoring the not-so-subtle stares from the other patrons. I didn't offer her my hand.

"And you—Mr. Singh," she replied in a throaty voice. Her mysterious brown eyes peered out from beneath the veil of the abaya. "My cousin says you wish to speak with me about the university?"

"Among other things," I answered obscurely, completely transfixed by her straightforward gaze. We spoke about inconsequential things for several minutes, while I tried to regain my focus. Lowering my voice, I eventually muttered, "Are you prepared to talk?"

"Not here," she hissed disapprovingly. "It's not part of the plan."

"I know _that_," I rasped, frustrated with my lack of concentration, but she'd caught me completely off guard with her looks.

Despite having seen a photograph of her before, it hadn't been enough to prepare me for just how beautiful she was—not that I could see anything of her body beneath the billowing cloak. Yet somehow it didn't matter. Her eyes alone communicated a sultriness that set my sex-starved libido humming on all cylinders.

In a much louder voice, I chastised, "You are foolish to even consider an education, Naba. It would be a waste of your money."

A man two tables over snorted at my rebuke. Evidently, the old boys in the room were proud of how I was handling myself—a fact that could only work in my favor.

Aaliyah ducked her head submissively, but the anger vibrating off her body was palpable. Clearly, her cover wasn't entirely an act. The girl wanted something more for herself than to succumb to the status quo for women in her country. The question was 'why'—especially when her father was a man of great power and influence.

"How long must we do this?" I muttered through clenched teeth, smiling grimly ay the men staring at us.

"Keep talking," she whispered harshly. "In five minutes, I will leave in tears. You will declare success to Mundhir, demand your payment, and he will offer to bring his other cousin to your apartment later tonight."

"You better not be playing games with me," I cautioned, lighting yet another cigarette to keep my hands busy. If I wasn't careful, I'd become addicted to the damned things. "My country doesn't take kindly to being duped."

She never flinched. "Nor does mine."

With a barely perceptible nod, I again raised my voice and proceeded for the next five minutes to browbeat her over pursuing a college education. Suddenly, without warning, she covered her face with her hands and feigned tears. Standing abruptly, she nearly knocked over her chair in a rush to flee the coffee house. The sounds of mocking cheers from the men chased her out of the building.

Mundhir came over. "You were successful, Rhavi?"

"I think you'll find your cousin has seen the error in her ways," I responded with a hint of a smile.

"Very good," he praised, sharing a grin with the entire room.

"And now _you'll_ live up to your end of the bargain." It wasn't a question.

"Yes, I will find my other cousin and bring her to you."

"Tonight?"

"Within the hour," he promised.

Standing, I tossed several dinar onto the table to cover the cost of my coffee.

More catcalls filled the room.

"Go get her, boy!"

"No, don't be a boy—be a man!"

"No—a stud!"

Ignoring them all, I stared at Mundhir. It was important for the men in the room to see me as fearless.

"Don't make me wait," I advised coolly.

"One hour," Mundhir repeated. Our eyes remained locked, cementing the next phase of the plan for us both, and for me, strengthening the hope I had in my military future.

**April 27, 1999**

**Baghdad, Iraq**

Colonel Franklin could barely control his rage.

"Manoso, you've been there nearly a month, and you've given me nothing. You haven't even met with the fucking girl yet," he ranted. "What the hell are you doing? I'm not a bottomless money pit, you know. I can't afford to have you staying up there without something to show for it."

"Yes sir. I fully realize the difficult position I've put you in," I apologized nervously into the secure phone. _God, didn't the man know I was frustrated too?_ "But what can I do? The woman is playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse—"

"Tell me again why she didn't come to your apartment as planned the night you first met?" he interrupted.

I ran a hand through the hair I'd allow to grow for my cover. "I don't _know, _sir. She told me she'd have Mundhir bring her to my apartment. He said one hour, and I waited five."

"What does Mundhir think happened?" Colonel Franklin pressed.

"He said she got spooked by something or someone in the coffee house. He's been trying for the past ten days to reconnect with her, but she's disappeared like smoke."

"Shit."

_The word matched my sentiments perfectly. _My entire future could be resting on this mission, and so far I'd failed miserably.

"You're still going to the coffee house every night?" he badgered.

"Yes sir—without fail. The regulars rib me mercilessly, wanting to know how my night with Mundhir's whore of a cousin went. A couple of them are getting more curious about my supposed relationship with the university as well. They claim they almost never see me there."

"Is your cover still intact?"

"I believe so, sir. I've taken to spending more time in class." Swallowing hard, I shifted the subject back on track. "Do _you _have any more intel from your sources on what might've happened to the girl?"

"No." Colonel Franklin sighed. "It was foolish of me to think someone as young as you could handle this. I should've sent—"

A loud knock at the door interrupted his tirade—thank God. I was terrified he was going to ask me to give up and go back to Camp Doha. If that happened, I could kiss my dream of Ranger School good-bye.

Lowering my voice, I said, "Hold on, sir. Someone is at my door."

Seeing as I'd yet to have a visitor in all my time in Baghdad, I moved cautiously to the side of the doorframe.

"Yes?" I called out.

"It's Mundhir. I've brought my cousin."

_Yes!_

"She's here," I muttered into the phone.

"It's about damned time," he groused. "Call me when you have something."

"Yes sir."

Disconnecting, I unlocked and opened the door to reveal Mundhir standing in the shadows of the darkened street. Beside him, a girl wrapped in a midnight blue abaya looked up at me with eyes as dark and murky as the Mississippi River.

"I have finally found my miserable excuse of a cousin," Mundhir stated loudly in Arabic for anyone who might be within earshot.

Wordlessly, I stood back to allow them to enter, however only the girl moved forward. Mundhir remained in the doorway.

"I've done my duty. I delivered her to you as promised. What you do with this whore is your own business, and getting home safely afterward is _hers_," he spat out disgustedly.

Like our performance the other evening, this particular conversation had been scripted as well. In this case, it was the coffee house proprietor's way of letting me know he'd fulfilled his end of the deal with the Army by making our connection. Mundhir wanted his payment _and _to wash his hands off the matter.

"From the looks of her, I'll be purchasing plenty more coffee from you," I retorted, thus assuring him payment would be forthcoming. "She's beautiful, Mundhir. I appreciate your honor."

"Hunh—be careful. She has many enemies."

"Good to know," I replied rather uninterestedly. Now that my contact had arrived, I was anxious for Mundhir to go, so I could do my job and prove my worth to Colonel Franklin.

Closing the door, I turned to find the girl staring pensively out of the only window in my one-room studio apartment.

"Looking for someone, Aaliyah?" I taunted in Arabic. The words sounded cold and disapproving to my ears.

"Always, Mr. _Singh_," she retorted in perfect English, emphasizing the surname. While I was aware of her true identity, she had no idea of mine.

Her attitude was irksome. It was if the past ten days of silence hadn't occurred, and she'd just left our meeting at the coffee house to join me. Feeling more inept then ever, I folded my arms across my chest and glowered.

"Where the hell have you been?" I asked, switching to English.

"That is not your concern. It should only matter that I am here now."

Her haughty tone pissed me off even further, as I realized my entire military future rested upon this girl.

"Are you prepared to talk?"

"I'm prepared to do a great many things, Mr. Singh," she responded enigmatically, "but _not_ until I know you can be trusted."

I laughed harshly. "I think you've got that backwards, sister. _I'm_ the one questioning whether or not _you _can be trusted, because your actions up until now sure as hell haven't proven reliable."

Her nearly black eyes flashed with the first hint of real emotion.

"You are a typical male—" she scorned, "arrogant, rude and no different than the men in my own country. I expected better from an American—the land of the free."

Stunned by her own outburst, Aaliyah pressed her lips together as if expecting immediate punishment. We both knew it'd been bold of her to speak so forwardly to me. The women in Iraq were taught to respect men at all times. Failure to do so could result in horrifying consequences. That she was willing to risk the wrath of any man—foreign or otherwise—showed the depth of her strength and inner resolve.

Or perhaps her desperation.

And I'll be damned if I wasn't just a little intrigued by all that bravado of hers.

_You don't have time to be intrigued, idiot. Get down to business._

Agitated, I gestured toward the threadbare couch. "Sit down."

"No thank you. I prefer to stand."

"Suit yourself," I shrugged, heading over to the little kitchenette to get a bottle of water. It was time to get down to business. "Why didn't you come that first night?"

"It wasn't safe."

"And you knew this because—" Rolling my eyes, I let the question dangle.

"Because unlike you, I am well aware of the dangers in my own country, Mr. Singh. I felt afraid when I left the coffee house—"

"Of me?"

A rather indelicate snort escaped her. "Don't be ridiculous. You're merely a boy who's been sent to do a man's job!"

"Don't underestimate me," I advised, embarrassed by her characterization. It was too close to Mac Colburn's opinion of me. "I'm an American soldier—hardly a child. And if it's not me you're scared of—then who?"

"Any number of men who were there."

"_O—kay_," I drawled, even more frustrated by her vague answer. "Any whose names you care to share?"

She merely stared at me, and I growled in aggravation.

"You're wasting valuable time and resources, Aaliyah. I thought you _wanted _to talk to my government."

"I do."

"So then what the hell is it going to take for you to actually _talk_?"

"Assurances I'm not certain you have the power to provide," she answered swiftly and assuredly.

My chance at becoming an Army Ranger was slipping through my fingers with her refusal to cooperate, and suddenly I had a powerful need to _really_ see this girl who was ruining my future.

Setting the water bottle down with a mild thunk, my eyes found hers. "Take off your veil. I want to see you."

I expected her to refuse. I certainly would have, considering the request had been nothing short of an obnoxious command. Instead, she reached up and pulled the fabric off of her head in one defiant motion, allowing it to pool about her shoulders in a soft blue cloud. Reaching into the neckline of the abaya, she pulled out a mane of long, black curls that—once free—hung clear down to her waist.

She stared unflinchingly at me, yet despite her bold personality, there was vulnerability in her eyes that awakened every cell of my young, male body. The top of her head barely reached my shoulder, and with her porcelain like skin and dark eyes, she looked almost like a figurine—no—a simply _stunning_ statuette.

_Holy hell! If her body was half as good as her face—_

___Concentrate, Carlos!_

"I wish to seek asylum in your country," Aaliyah spoke softly, interrupting my salacious thoughts. Her entire demeanor had softened. "The only way I'll be safe is if I share with you what I know, for if I speak, it will surely seal my death here in Iraq."

Talk about not pulling any punches. The matter-of-fact statement shot a chill down my spine. She could've been reading a grocery list for all the inflection she'd used. I'd never heard a woman—especially a teenaged girl—speak so dispassionately about her own death.

"Who would kill you?"

She looked at me as if I were an idiot. "Anyone. Do you not know who my father is?"

"Of course I do," I bristled, feeling foolish.

"Then why do you ask such a stupid question?"

"I just find it hard to believe you think your own father would have you killed."

"I don't think—I _know_," she scoffed. "He'd do it himself if given the chance."

"Why?"

"If he knew what I'm prepared to tell you, he'd be foolish _NOT_ to kill me." Again, her tone was flat and unemotional.

Silence reigned between us for several charged moments, while I tried to get my emotions under control. Somehow I needed to move past my anger over how she'd kept me hanging in the wind for almost two weeks. I had to stop thinking about my future, Ranger School and how all of this might affect me personally. But mostly, I needed to get my youthful—and lately very neglected—hormones under control.

"Sit down," I ordered, motioning toward the couch again. Seeing her hesitation, I softened my tone for the first time since her arrival. "Please."

Reluctantly, she lowered herself to perch on the very edge of the worn sofa, while I wisely pulled a chair over from the dinette and sat across from her.

"Maybe we should start over," I suggested calmly, almost smirking at the bizarreness of our association. God, there we were—two fucking teenagers trying to negotiate world peace. No wonder everything was such a mess. "It's nice to meet you, Aaliyah. I'm Rhavi Singh—"

"No, you aren't," she cut me off bitterly. "You are a nameless American soldier who's been sent here because of your looks in hopes of furthering your own career."

I frowned at her insight. The girl was far more intelligent than I'd given her credit.

"Are you serious about wanting asylum?"

She tipped her head in acknowledgement. "It is my only chance."

"And you're saying the only way you'll tell me what you know is for me to guarantee your safe passage to the United States?"

"Yes."

"How do I even know your information is worth my time—let alone my country's protection?"

Her expression hardened. "You _must_ trust me. What I know could be critical to America's future."

Colonel Franklin's words echoed in my head:

"_If you haven't already learned, Manoso—no one can be trusted."_

"I'll need to speak with my superiors."

"Of course." Aaliyah nodded in agreement. "I will wait for you to contact me again through Mundhir."

Curiosity got the best of me. "How do you know him anyway?"

"He _is_ my distant cousin."

_What?_

"You're kidding, right? I thought that was part of the ruse!"

"As I said, it's a distant relationship. Yet there's always been talk among my family about his coffee shop being some sort of meeting place for international spies. My father's men watch him very closely, but have yet to prove anything. Mundhir plays a dangerous game."

"So you approached him? When?"

"Shortly after your country attacked mine back in December."

"Operation Desert Fox."

She shrugged. "Call it what you want. It was an all-out air assault on Saddam's military targets."

"And with good reason! Hussein refused all U.N. weapons inspections—"

"Because the United Nations didn't live up to its promise of lifting economic sanctions!"

"You're _defending _him?" I asked incredulously.

Aaliyah's face flushed. "No! I'm trying to answer your question!"

_Jesus, she was beautiful—by far the most stunning female I'd ever laid eyes on, and, despite my young age, I'd already been with my fair share of females._

Holding up my hand in a gesture of peace, I said, "So you approached Mundhir?"

"Yes. It took time, but yes, I finally gathered the courage to tell him I had been made aware of a potentially catastrophic plan to harm the United States and its allies."

"What was it you heard?"

She merely lifted her eyebrow. "Nice attempt, Mr. Singh—but I've told you my condition. Help me get to the United States with a new identity, and I will tell you everything you'd ever want to know about what is really happening here in Iraq."

My pulse raced at the possibilities.

"Do you trust Mundhir, Aaliyah?"

"I trust no one, Mr. Singh. And neither should you. Mundhir is out for one thing only—to line his pockets with money."

"And yet you said earlier you're waiting to see if _I_ am trustworthy."

"A fact that remains to be seen," she agreed dispassionately. "It is not you I need to trust, Mr. Singh. It is your government."

We both stood.

"I'll speak to my superiors tonight and be in contact soon," I informed her.

"Please hurry," Aaliyah responded hoarsely. "Saddam and his men, including my father, already have a definite time table in place."

Ignoring her warning, I said, "Are you able to get home safely? Where does your father think you are?"

A shadow of fear crossed her face before she schooled her features. "He does not know I'm gone. I slipped away after retiring for the night. I couldn't risk any of his men following me."

Once again her vulnerability touched a place in me I'd never explored before—the primal, God-given need for a man to protect a woman.

Without thought, my hand reached out to touch one soft curl on the side of her cheek. "Be careful, Aaliyah."

Our bodies were within arms distance, and her eyes widened momentarily in newly discovered awareness.

"Good night, Mr. Singh," she hastily responded before slipping away into the night.

**April 30, 1999**

**Baghdad, Iraq**

_Where the hell was she?_

Three days had passed since my meeting with Aaliyah, and once again I found myself at the mercy of her unpredictable behavior. Mundhir had successfully made contact with her, however she'd still kept me waiting much to my dismay and Colonel Franklin's anger. _God, if she only knew the crap I'd had to put up with from the Colonel in order to facilitate her demand. _I was on dangerous ground with the man, and I barely even knew him.

It was nearing Midnight. Sitting on the front stoop of my apartment, I closed my eyes and allowed the coolness of the late night breeze to caress my face. Spring in Baghdad was warm but comfortable. I wasn't looking forward to being in the Middle East in a few more months when the heat was nearly debilitating.

For perhaps the millionth time since meeting her, I silently cursed Aaliyah Alghafari. _How could I have been so stupid as to allow a pretty face play me for a fool the way she had? _

A shadow fell over me in the glow of the streetlight. Without opening my eyes, I knew it was Aaliyah. The scent of sandalwood filled my nostrils, reaching into the deepest recesses of my body.

"Mundhir said you desire my services again, Mr. Singh," she said in a low, sultry voice. The mere tone of it had me thinking of things a man in my precarious position couldn't afford to think.

"That was two days ago," I sneered, responding to her Arabic in kind. "Perhaps my needs have changed."

"An unavoidable delay, I'm afraid, but I am available now if you wish."

I took the time to light a cigarette and pretend as though I was pondering her solicitation when in reality my insides were jumping like a vat of grasshoppers. _Don't blow this, Carlos!_

Jerking my head toward the door, I said, "Let's go."

No sooner were we inside than I hissed, "What the fuck is wrong with you, Aaliyah? You say you want my government to assist you, and yet you continue to play these ridiculous games—"

"They are neither games _nor _ridiculous," she retorted in English, shoving the abaya away from her head. "Every time I set foot off of my father's compound is another signature on my death warrant."

Her deep brown eyes were cold and distant, and upon closer inspection, I could see she was exhausted.

"What's wrong?" I demanded, softening my voice in an attempt to ease her anxiety. "Something's happened. Tell me!"

Moving swiftly toward the window, she searched the shadows carefully. Ignoring my question, she asked one of her own. "Have you arranged for my escape?"

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from exploding with frustration. _Why couldn't the woman just answer one friggin' question without sixteen of her own?_

"Yes."

Aaliyah's head snapped toward me in surprise. "You have?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" I grumbled, still unhappy with the way she'd left me hanging for three days.

"When do I leave?"

Gesturing toward the couch, I waited until she sat before sitting down beside her. Aaliyah frowned at our close proximity, but she didn't move.

"I don't know," I answered her question honestly. "There's been a snafu with the paperwork."

She looked at me suspiciously. "What is this word 'snafu'?"

"It means there's been an unavoidable hold-up of some kind."

"What kind of hold-up?"

"I don't know the particulars, but my superiors are working with Washington to sort it out."

"Do they not understand I refuse to say anything until I have assurances?" Her voice betrayed her desperation.

"We have a temporary plan to move you to a safe house near Camp Doha in Kuwait."

"A safe house? What does this mean?"

"It's a house where you will live until we can transport you to the United States. No one will know you are staying there, but you will be protected nonetheless."

"Protected how?"

I swallowed hard. "Several soldiers who are higher in rank than I am will stay in the house with you—men who are trained to get the right information we need from you regarding what you know about Hussein's plans."

Aaliyah shook her head sadly. "No. I cannot trust this plan. I refuse to be interrogated by strangers."

"It's not an interrogation. It's—"

"You say questions, but we both know what it is, Mr. Singh," she said derisively. "And I won't do it, unless—" She paused to stare at me like a bug beneath a microscope.

"Unless what?" I asked impatiently. I swear I'd aged twenty years in the month I'd been in Baghdad. The unpredictability of this woman was friggin' exhausting.

"Unless you stay with me," she pronounced boldly. "I trust you."

"Since when?" I choked incredulously.

She shrugged. "Better you than another nameless solider, but you must promise me this place is as safe as you say. My father is already suspicious of me. Once he knows I am gone, he will know I've betrayed him in some way. He will never stop hunting until he finds me, and that includes in the United States. I must have a complete identity change once I arrive in Washington, including surgery to change my looks."

By then she was practically wringing her hands in anxious anticipation of what it would entail for her to have a new life. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but scowl. The idea of someone changing the looks of her gorgeous face seemed almost criminal.

Desperate to have her cooperation in order to move one step closer to my own dream, I blurted, "You have my word you'll be kept safe, Aaliyah."

"And _you'll _be the one to protect me?" she pressed.

I had no idea how I was going to arrange that with Colonel Franklin, who'd been quite adamant on the phone that someone else with greater expertise would be taking over for me once we arrived in Kuwait. But right then, I was willing to say anything in order to keep her from running.

"Yes—I'll arrange to be at the safe house with you," I promised boldly. _I'd find a way!_

A long silence stretched between us while she pondered her options, and I wondered how the hell I was going to live up to my promise.

"I'll go with you," she whispered breathlessly. "I must."

It hit me that I'd never asked her a very important question.

"Why are you doing this, Aaliyah? Really. Why would you _want_ to betray your father, your leader, and your country? So many in the Middle East hate Americans. Why don't you?"

"I am Muslim, Mr. Singh, but that does not mean I believe all those who aren't Muslim are evil people who must be destroyed. What my father and the rest of Hussein's military inner circle are plotting is nothing short of genocide. It sickens me."

Reading her eyes to gauge her sincerity, I was struck by her ardent nature. If she was this passionate verbally, I couldn't help but wonder what that passion would translate into physically.

_Stop, Carlos—now!_

"We must leave right away," I said, standing up and striding toward the corner where I kept my duffle bag.

Hastily, I began to shove my belongings into the container.

"Now?" Aaliyah echoed in surprise. "I must go home first and—"

"And what? Tell good old Daddy you're headed out of town for a few days?" I scorned. "No—it must be now in the cover of darkness."

"But my passport!"

"You won't be using it anyway. You'll be given everything you need for a new life when the time is appropriate. For now, you'll hide in the trunk of the military vehicle I brought until we cross over the border into Kuwait."

All of Aaliyah's bravado crumpled, and her face turned white. "I'm frightened."

The simple phrase penetrated my conscience. Every once in awhile she said or did something that reminded me we were both just a pair of teenagers. No wonder she was scared. I was too!

I couldn't resist taking her hand. Giving it a reassuring squeeze, I attempted a smile. "It'll be all right. I promise to have you settled in the safe house by morning."

"And then?"

My eyebrow arched. "And _then_, you and I are going to have a long overdue talk."

**May 4, 1999**

**Camp Doha, Kuwait**

"Where have you been, Cherry?"

The derogatory greeting seared right through my shoulder blades where I sat hunched over a desk in an empty office filling out mounds of paperwork for Colonel Franklin. After much negotiation and downright begging on my part during the ride back to Kuwait, he'd finally agreed to allow me to stay with Aaliyah at the safe house. More importantly, he'd agreed it was in her best interest to have very few people aware of her existence. Considering Tank was the one other person I trusted on the military base, the three of us were the only ones aware of just what was happening in that safe house.

The Colonel had demanded I report to Camp Doha to provide him with as much information as possible, so he could begin the process of Aaliyah's immigration to the United States. According to the Colonel, it would likely be upwards of three months before they were able to arrange for her transportation to the U.S., along with the details of her new life. Knowing how badly she wanted to get out of the Middle East before someone found her, I agreed to meet with the Colonel, while Tank offered to stay with Aaliyah.

Subtlety turning the clipboard over, I looked up as Lieutenant Mac Colburn shut the door behind him and sauntered over to tower over me.

"I asked you a question, Private Manoso."

I slowly rose to my feet. "Yes sir."

Colburn's eyes narrowed. "And I expect an answer."

Biting my inner cheek to keep from being insubordinate, I said through gritted teeth. "Completing paperwork for the Colonel, sir."

"What kind of paperwork? Where the fuck have you been the last month and a half?" he demanded.

"I'm not at liberty to answer that question, sir. You'll have to consult with Colonel Franklin—"

"I'm asking _you_, Dickhead." Colburn stepped forward until we were face to face. "Shit, I knew from the very first day you were going to be trouble!"

I wanted nothing more than to pop that privileged, smarmy face of his, but I had limited time. Aaliyah was already scared to death of being alone with me. I couldn't imagine what terror she might feel with a nearly seven-foot tall African American warrior.

"As I said, you'll have to consult the Colonel. Now if you'll excuse me—"

"There _is _no excuse for scum like you," Colburn sneered. "Your kind is always looking for the easy way, aren't you—you fucking Saltwater Nigger!"

_Enough._

My hands were halfway to his neck—until his next words stopped me.

"Do it!" he taunted. "Do it, Manoso, and I'll have you on a boat sailing back to your own people faster than you can say Fidel Castro."

I forced myself to take a slow, cleansing breath. While it'd be easy to file a complaint, it'd be almost impossible to prove racial harassment without witnesses, and I had better things to do with my time.

Slowly lowering my arms, I looked Colburn in the eye. "No sir—fighting you would be too easy. I'd rather see you writhe in curiosity over what you don't know. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work—"

He bumped his shoulder into my chest.

"I ought to write you up for insubordination."

"Be my guest, sir," I replied with steely determination, "but I _am _going to get this report finished for Colonel Franklin."

Colburn moved in until our noses were touching.

"I'm going to be on you like white on rice, Manoso—or in your case, brown on a bean, you Cuban piece of shit. Don't think just because you're doing something for Franklin that I won't figure out what it is. And when I do, I'll make certain he knows exactly why he chose the wrong soldier. You don't send a boy in for a man's work."

My gaze never wavered. "No sir—you just send in the fucking best, and that's what _I_ am."

**May 15, 1999**

**Safe house in Kuwait**

"You want some more tabbouleh?" I asked in Arabic, holding up the dish enticingly.

"No thank you," Aaliyah replied listlessly in English.

No big surprise there. The girl had refused to speak her native tongue since our arrival in Kuwait two weeks ago, saying it was important for her to leave her former life behind. What concerned me though was that each day we were stuck in the safe house, more of her _soul_ seemed to be getting left behind as well. She barely left her bedroom unless it was for meals, and many a night I could hear her crying through the thin, paper-like walls.

Pale and drawn, she toyed with the food on her nearly full plate. Mealtime had been like that for more than a week now.

"What is it?" I asked, trying my best to keep from sounding impatient.

She flinched nevertheless. "Nothing you can fix, so let's eat in peace."

Biting back a retort, I shoveled another bite of fish into my mouth. Tank had brought us fresh groceries that morning, along with a warning that Colburn was beginning to make more noises around the camp about my extended absence.

_Good. _Let him stew in his inquisitiveness.

Still, nagging worry throbbed in the back of my neck. Tank had been insulted when I'd asked him if Colburn had followed him to the safe house, yet I couldn't seem to shake the premonition something bad was about to happen.

Aaliyah must've been experiencing the same feeling for she'd been equally on edge all day. Our nerves were both stretched beyond the limit.

Shoving my plate aside, I stood. "I'll do the dishes."

She rose as well. "No—that is my duty. I'll—"

"It's not your _duty_, Aaliyah," I bit out, sounding harsher than I'd intended. "You already _did _your duty. You told me all about Hussein's plans."

She'd _more _than come through on her promise to tell me exactly what Saddam Hussein was plotting against his enemies in the Middle East, along with his rising bitterness toward the United Nations and particularly the United States. Our first three days in the safe house had been spent going over every detail ad nauseum, until I could provide an accurate report for Colonel Franklin. Now we were merely stuck with one another until the Colonel received the go ahead to transport her to the United States.

Trying to alleviate the tension, I grabbed a dishtowel off the counter and snapped it at her. "You deserve a lifetime exemption on dish duty for that alone, wouldn't you agree?"

She looked stunned by the light-hearted gesture, her mouth dropping open comically. Evidently, she'd never experienced flirtation with a male before.

Instantly, the mood in the kitchen shifted, and my mind was filled with more than flirtation. Endless days with nothing to do had been nearly unbearable, but the nights—dear God, the nights had been pure torture. For that was when my subconscious and my body took over. Dreams of what Aaliyah would look like beneath her abaya had kept me thrashing in sleepless frustration on more than one occasion, and now here she was less than three feet from me and looking hotter than any girl I'd ever seen.

My body's capacity for remaining celibate had about reached its tipping point, especially when I realized Aaliyah was staring at my mouth in a mixture of curiosity and longing.

_Shit. If she looked down and saw the affect she was having on me, we were in real trouble._

_Too late._

Completely flustered, Aaliyah reached for a bowl and collided with my hand instead. She jumped back as if she'd been burned.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, eyes averted.

"For what?" I asked, although I suspected I already knew the answer.

Lowering her head, she whispered. "We should not touch. It isn't appropriate."

"Says who?" I snorted dismissively, reaching for the bowl again. Another peak at her face revealed her sincerity. "Wait—what's the big deal? Our fingers barely touched."

"It's not right," she emphasized, turning away, but not before I saw the familiar look of desire in her eyes.

Frustrated in every way, I simply snapped.

"Then you'd better move, because I'm not about to tip-toe around you on account of some sort of religious taboo. I'm sick of that shit."

She turned back with a scowl. "There's no need to be crude _or _rude."

"Honey, if you think _that's_ rude, you ain't seen anything yet."

She gasped. "You are an ungrateful—"

I lashed out in pure sexual frustration. "You know what? I'm _done_ feeling grateful. I'm done feeling sorry for you too."

"I didn't _ask_ you to feel sorry for me!" she pointed out.

Her logic was lost on me—not when I was on an emotional roll.

"Yes, you made a tough choice in agreeing to narc on your father. And hell yeah, it's going to be difficult moving to the other side of the world on your own. But _you _made those choices willingly. More importantly, you're about to live a life most women in your country wouldn't even dare dream of—all at the expense of my dear old Uncle Sam. So don't—"

"I don't even know what you are talking about!" Aaliyah cried, her voice rising for the first time since we'd met. Her arms flapped beneath the bell-like sleeves of her abaya. "What are these words? Narc? Uncle Sam? You make no sense, and you know _nothing _of what I'm turning my back on. Never again will I see my mother, my younger brothers and sisters—"

"Your choice," I repeated coldly.

_I was being a real jackass, but I couldn't seem to stop—not after I'd barely touched her, and she'd gone into some kind of snit_.

She wanted me to understand her despair over what she was leaving behind, but lacked any compassion for my own situation. I had no idea whether or not Colonel Franklin was being straight with me. _Would he really come through with my ticket to Ranger School? _Worse yet, I'd been trapped alone for two weeks in a three room house with the most gorgeous woman I'd ever seen in my life and no way to act upon the hormones assaulting my sensibilities.

She was right. I shouldn't touch her. It'd been five fucking months since I'd had sex. Who knew what I might do.

Aaliyah moved closer, pushing my self-control to its limits.

"You are not a nice person, Mr. Singh." The pulse in her neck was beating wildly.

"No, I'm not," I agreed roughly, convinced I was about to burst from pent-up desire. "And you should really walk away, Aaliyah. Right now. Go to your room."

Her eyes flashed with stubborn rebellion at the rebuke. "Don't tell me what to do!"

_To hell with it._

Pulling her to my chest, I ground my lips against hers without even pausing to see what her reaction was. I couldn't—not when my body had become instantly swamped with the most amazing sensations it'd ever felt.

_Oh God, she tasted like honey, and felt even better. _

It was as if a demon had been unleashed in my system. I couldn't even bring myself to slow the kiss down—not that it would've made any difference. Aaliyah was stunned for all of two seconds before she too threw herself into the kiss. It was if our minds and bodies had become disconnected, and with it, any ability to think rationally had flown out the window as well.

My hands ran down her sides, memorizing every curve beneath the abaya, and my body instantly hardened, especially when Aaliyah slid her hands up my arms and moaned deep in her throat.

Releasing her lips, I nipped at the skin of her neck with my teeth.

"Aaliyah," I rasped.

Pain soared through my entire leg, as she stepped hard on my instep. Instinctively, I released her and winced at the horrified look on her face before she fled for her bedroom. Slamming the door behind her, she left me standing there in real physical pain—and I wasn't talking about my foot. Another part of my anatomy hurt even more.

"Damn it!" I exploded into the empty kitchen, gripping the sides of my head in frustration and a little bit of self-loathing.

_What a fucking idiot_! _How could I have let that happen? _The girl was under my protection, trusting me to see to her best interests, which _didn't_ include putting the rush on her. Christ, _neither_ of us needed that kind of additional complication._  
_

At the very least, I owed her an apology.

It took several minutes, but I was finally able to get my libido back under control and clean up the kitchen. Deciding it wasn't the right time to approach Aaliyah, I headed directly for my bedroom.

That night was the worst yet. Now that my mind and body had felt and tasted a sample of what I'd been dreaming about for nights on end, it was pure hell to know the object of my fantasies was less than two feet away from on the other side of the wall next to my bed.

Two hours later it was dark, and I still hadn't fallen asleep. It was then I heard the soft, mewling sounds of someone in emotional pain.

_Aaliyah._

She was crying again—like she had so many other nights. Only tonight was different. Tonight I'd contributed to her pain.

_Shit._

There was no way I'd sleep without apologizing to her first. Alondra Manoso had certainly drilled the right way to treat a lady into her son's head often enough, and her husband Juan had certainly complemented her training with a few physical reminders of what he'd do to me if I didn't. I couldn't help but smile wistfully into the darkness. I'd managed to steer clear of homesickness throughout basic training and my first months in the Middle East, but right then, I'd have given anything to see my parents.

Sliding out of the bed, I yanked on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt and opened the door of my bedroom. Two steps, and I was in front of Aaliyah's bedroom door, knocking quietly.

"Aaliyah."

The crying instantly stopped.

No response.

_Now what?_

Another sniffle.

I wasn't about to go to bed without apologizing—not when I already felt guilty and unable to sleep.

I knocked a little harder. "Aaliyah—please open the door. I want to apologize."

Still no response.

Huffing, I made a snap decision and opened the door to her room. I halfway expected her to leap off the bed and come at me with claws extended after the way I'd treated her. Instead, I found her huddled in a round ball in the middle of her bed wearing only a thin slip. The moonlight left nothing to my imagination, and her silhouette revealed a lush, curvaceous body—the sight of which left me momentarily incapacitated.

I cleared my throat awkwardly, and Aaliyah's head shot up off the mattress.

"What are you—?"

"Shhh," I said softly, moving forward to stand tentatively at the edge of the bed. "Don't be frightened. I'm not going to hurt you."

Groping for the thin blanket that lay at the foot of the bed, she covered herself haphazardly and looked up at me beneath hooded eyes.

"I'm sorry if I scared you earlier."

"It—it's all right. I was foolish too," she stammered. Glancing at the door expectantly, she willed me to leave.

Too bad—I had a guilty conscience that needed absolution, and she was damned well going to listen.

"I should never have said those things about choice," I began quietly. "While it's true you made the choice to do this, don't think I don't know and value the sacrifices you've made _because _of that choice."

My voice sounded hoarse to my ears. "I think you're the bravest person I've ever met, Aaliyah."

She flushed. "Thank you. I appreciate the sacrifice you are making as well by being stuck in this house with me for what may become weeks on end. I—" she fumbled, "I'm sure it's hard on you."

Clearly, we were both embarrassed by what had happened earlier. Worse yet, I felt foolish towering over her bed, while she lay beneath me.

_Finish what you came to do, Carlos._

"I hope you weren't crying because of what happened after dinner," I ventured carefully. "I should never have kissed you like that."

"Please—I don't wish to discuss it," Aaliyah murmured, holding up her hand to stop my words. "You should go now. Mr. Singh."

I flinched slightly at the name. She'd refused to call me Rhavi, claiming it was too intimate, yet the formality was uncomfortable too—especially after our earlier kiss.

"I will, but not until I know you're okay.

"I'm fine," she assured me brusquely. "What happened earlier is not what caused my tears."

That brought me up short. "Then what _did_?"

"I cry most nights."

While I already knew that thanks to the lack of insulation between the walls, it still felt good to hear her admit the truth.

"Because?"

An awkward silence fell between us, while she debated what to say, and I stood there trying not to picture that incredible body of hers hidden by only one thin blanket and an even thinner slip.

"Many reasons," she finally revealed, inching upward until she could lean against the headboard. "Homesickness—relief over finally telling the truth—fear for my safety and that of my family— fear of the unknown."

She shyly allowed her eyes to meet mine, and I could see a fresh sheen of unshed tears hovering over her bottom lids.

"I feel so alone, Mr. Singh," she whispered despondently.

The use of my phony identity was like a repeated kick to the stomach, as was the vulnerability she allowed me to see. It felt wrong for her to address me in such formal terms—not when what I felt for her was anything but formal. Because right or wrong, I was completely entranced by this girl—no _woman_—and the feelings I had for her were very adult in nature.

"My name is Carlos," I blurted. _Oh shit—what in the hell had I just done! _

Her eyes widened in surprise—and perhaps a bit of relief. Gazing up at me, she responded breathlessly, "Thank you for protecting me, _Carlos_."

My pulse was beating in my ears. Never before had I wanted to protect someone the way I did Aaliyah. She was fast consuming every part of my mind and body.

"I should go," I rasped, desperately clinging to my last vestiges of sanity, yet my feet stayed rooted beside the bed.

"Probably," she agreed, nodding her head slightly. Closing her eyes, she seemed to resolve some internal battle of her own. For when she opened them again, her gaze was steady and purposeful.

"Or you could stay, and we could—talk," she offered hesitantly.

_Go Carlos! Go right now._

My legs slowly lowered to the bed. "If I stay, perhaps you won't feel so frightened."

Her breath caught. "Yes—it would definitely make me feel safer."

It was hopeless.

I looked at her earnestly. "I _do _care for you, Aaliyah. More than you realize."

"I feel it, Carlos," she acknowledged, reaching for my hand to place it over her heart. In the process, the blanket slipped, revealing the silky smoothness of her skin above her slip. "I find myself caring for you too—in ways that I know I shouldn't. It—it frightens me."

Her words sent a rush of blood to my groin.

"Don't be frightened," I managed, feeling as though I had cotton in my mouth. "It's a natural response between a man and a woman."

I was keenly aware my fingers were mere inches from one of her rounded breasts. _Dear God—help me!_

She looked away in embarrassment. "For some in your culture, it is normal, yes, but in mine—"

"We're no longer in your culture," I reminded her, all the while cursing myself. _Who was I to mess with this girl's innocence?_

She searched my face. "Do you _really_ care for me, Carlos?"

"More than you can imagine," I responded with utter sincerity. And it was true. Somewhere along the line I'd fallen in love with Aaliyah Alghafari.

"Then comfort me," she invited, closing her eyes to the inevitable. "Just please don't hurt me."

My lips touched hers in an entirely different kiss than the one we'd shared in the kitchen. This time it was slow and torturous, eliciting the most powerful rush I'd ever felt in my entire life.

Reluctantly, I pulled back and stared down at her. "I won't hurt you, Aaliyah. I swear it! I'll never let you down."

She smiled then and willingly moved into my embrace—into my heart—and ultimately into my body.

My life would never be the same again after that night. I knew it with an almost frightening certainty. It was truly the beginning of the end for me—the end of Carlos Manoso, the boy, and the end of whatever innocence had remained after my rocky youth. Unquestionably, that one night set the course for what would define me for the rest of my adult life.

Unredeemable guilt.

* * *

**Trenton, New Jersey**

My cell phone buzzed on the couch beside me. Shaking my head to clear it of undesirable memories, I read the text message from Morelli.

_Leaving the precinct. Don't mistakenly shoot me when I arrive. Also, put Bob in the basement, so he doesn't wake the house, and you purposely shoot HIM._

It took me a minute to get my bearings—so lost had I been in the memory of Aaliyah. A glance at my watch showed it was nearing six in the morning. No wonder I was groggy. Between lack of sleep and my walk down memory lane, it felt like a truck had just dragged me for about 13 miles—or more accurately 13 years.

I looked over to where Morelli's mutt was still positioned at the foot of the stairs, his eyes watching my every move.

"All right, you stupid dog—let's go."

Instantly, he jumped to his feet and came trotting over to where I sat on the couch.

_Hunh—at least the damned thing was trained._

He then promptly leaned over and horked up the remnants of what looked to be a bright pink thong all over my dress shoes.

"Son of a bitch!"

The dog looked at me hopefully, wagging his tail in joyous abandonment.

"You fucking stupid mutt—I ought to shoot you _and _your master."

I swear the damned thing smirked at me.

Standing, I slipped off my shoes, grabbed his collar and dragged him around the house until I found the right door to the basement. After I managed to shove him unwillingly down the stairs, I went back to clean up the mess he'd left. If it had been Morelli living there alone, I would've left it, but I didn't want to take a chance on Stephanie feeling sick when she came down later.

I'd just finished when I heard Morelli's truck pull into the driveway. Moments later he came through the back door looking like the walking dead.

"You look like hell," I scowled from the entrance to the kitchen. "And your dog is a disgusting freak of nature."

Morelli grimaced, taking in my appearance as well. "Yeah? Well you don't exactly look like you stepped off of GQ, pal. As for Bob—you're probably right." He screwed up his nose. "What the hell is that smell?"

"My shoes. 'Barfo the amazing' puked up a pink thong all over them."

"The pink one?" Morelli sounded almost brokenhearted. "Crap—I gave that to Steph last Valentine's Day!"

_Did he REALLY think I wanted to hear anything to do with him and Stephanie? _The guy was truly an idiot.

"What happened with the heart?" I asked brusquely, focusing us both.

Morelli shrugged. "It's at the ME's office, although it's only a formality. No doubt the DNA on the heart is going to match that of my murdered stripper."

"Did you get anything else at the scene?"

"Not really." Morelli rubbed a hand over his bleary eyes. "Whoever did this isn't an amateur. He's thought through every step of this process—no mistakes."

"So what's next?"

He dropped his hand to look at me as though I were stupid. "You know the drill. We'll keep doing what we're already doing. Canvass Cheryl's apartment complex for anyone who might've seen the guy, continue to cull through all the video from Domino's—and, of course, wait for the ME's report."

"It's not enough."

Morelli gave me a nonplussed stare. "Excuse me?"

"What else are you doing?" I pressed, feeling unaccustomed worry clawing at my throat. "For Christ's sake—you've got a fucking lunatic out there stalking an innocent woman. You need to be doing more than—"

"Don't tell me how to do my job." Morelli's voice was low and dangerous, whereas mine seemed to be getting louder by the minute.

"Somebody has to. You're certainly not getting it done on your own," I retorted recklessly. "Aaliyah is going to—"

"Aaliyah? Who the hell is Aaliyah?" Morelli demanded exasperatedly.

_Fuck. What the hell was wrong with me? _Tired or not, I simply didn't make mistakes like that.

Ever.

It had to be the damned memories causing me to lose my infamous control. I never should've allowed myself to think about Aaliyah. But when Cheryl had questioned my motive for helping her father, I'd instinctively been transported back in time and assaulted with images of the woman who'd first captured my heart.

What scared me most in the cold light of a new day was the knowledge that history was in a sense repeating itself.

"Forget it," I muttered dismissively. I wasn't about to tell him who Aailyah was.

Morelli took a step forward. "Does she have to do with this case? What aren't you telling me?"

"I _said _forget it." My hand clenched at my side.

Stephanie's husband stared at me in expectation, while my face gave away nothing.

Realizing we were at a stalemate, he rolled his eyes and nearly growled, "Go home."

"I need to check on Cheryl. She's my responsibility—"

"Go. Home," he cut me off. "Before I shoot _you._" He exhaled loudly. "I'm here, and I'll watch Cheryl while you get some sleep and take care of whatever it is you need to do to get this safe house you mentioned ready." He raised an eyebrow. "Where exactly _is _this place, anyway."

I continued to gaze at him impassively. "It's not your concern."

"Bullshit. Everything is my concern now," he replied angrily. "This isn't one of your secret missions, Manoso. It's a police-driven investigation. Screw me, and I'll make your life a living hell."

_Jackass._

My teeth were ready to break from being clenched together so tightly.

"It's on the outskirts of Princeton," I offered resentfully.

Morelli looked at me suspiciously. "Is it yours? Scratch that. _Is it legal_?"

I merely lifted an eyebrow. "I'd give you the address, but it's not registered. And yes, it's mine. It's private, and I'd like to keep it that way if you don't mind."

"I'll want to see it."

"No."

"That wasn't a request."

"Fuck you," I shot back, feeling even more out of control. "I'm out of here. Tell Cheryl I'll be back as soon as I can to collect her. "

"We're not finished, Manoso—"

"_I'm _finished," I shot back. "Either I leave now, or you and I are going to have a repeat of Hawaii."

Morelli must've realized I was serious, or else he was too tired to argue anymore. Either way, I grabbed my jacket and car keys off the kitchen table and headed for the door. Pausing with my hand on the door handle, I didn't even bother to turn around.

"I'm sending Lester to watch over the house until I return."

"No."

"That wasn't a request," I said coldly, repeating his own words before walking out the door.

The cold air slapped me in the face, as I made my way to Cheryl's Navigator—a fitting image for what I most needed. God knows a real slap in the face might help me to focus better on the job at hand rather than horrific memories of the past or the roller coaster uncertainty of the here and now.

Unfortunately Morelli had been right about one thing. I needed sleep desperately, yet for the first time in my life I was almost afraid to _go_ to sleep—for my dreams would most certainly be filled with a tall, curly-haired woman, just as they pretty much had been for months and years. The question was would it be Cheryl who haunted my subconscious like she had for so many weeks now?

Or would it be the ghost of Aaliyah.


	13. Chapter 13

I do not own any of JE's characters.

Man, do I HATE writer's block. It hits every once in a while, and this time it was a real battle. I'm thankful to finally offer you another chapter and hope the next one comes to me a bit more easily.

I wouldn't have made it through this time without my girls. Thanks so much to Julie and Kim, my two fabulous betas, for the ongoing encouragement, amazing advice and well-timed laughs that kept me motivated. I'm truly indebted, my friends.

And thanks to all of you for the support and lovely feedback. You certainly make the dry spells worth enduring! I hope you're all as excited about summer as I am. It's almost here, folks!

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

**Ranger's POV**

_7:15 a.m._

"You look rough," Tank rumbled when I walked into my office early Saturday morning.

"I feel rough."

Dropping into my chair, I threw back my head and closed my eyes.

"Used to be going without sleep for days was status quo. Now it's like being tortured. When the hell did we get so old?"

My best friend snorted. "Speak for yourself! I ain't old. _I_ got a woman keepin' me young."

A picture of his _woman _came to mind_, _and I decided not to touch that comment with a ten-foot pole. I _really_ didn't need to know what Lula did to help keep him young.

Tank slouched comfortably in the chair across from me.

"Probably a woman's what you need to keep from getting old too." He grinned slyly. "Oh wait—I forgot—you seem to have already found yourself one, haven't you, Carlos?"

"Fuck you, _Pierre_," I muttered, eyes still closed.

He barked out a laugh, and I gritted my teeth. The man was entirely too cheerful, especially considering I'd dragged him out of bed so early on a weekend.

"Is Lula with you?"

I wasn't certain I could deal with my protégée on top of sleep deprivation.

"Nah—she's home sleeping. Seems she and Stephanie went out last night and found some trouble."

My eyes popped open at that. I never had found out what the deal with Stephanie, the trailer and the smell of manure had been all about the previous night. I'd been too worried about Cheryl's safety.

"What kind of trouble? Is Lula okay?"

_Stephanie had seemed all right, other than being tired. Had I missed something?_

Tank bit back a smile. "Poor Lula doll got sick early on, but she's fine now. A big gal like her can hold a lot of liquor, you know."

I had no interest in _ever _seeing an intoxicated Lula. A sober one was bad enough. "I'll take your word on that. So what'd they do?"

He shrugged. "I don't have the whole story yet, but it had something to do with unleashing a cow in the yard of some chick named Terry Gilman. Know her?"

The corners of my mouth slid up thinking back to the night at Pino's when we'd found the tires on Stephanie's SUV slashed. I should've known she wouldn't let any deed involving her arch rival go unpunished.

"Vaguely, and Stephanie's a fool. She could've hurt herself _or_ those babies."

The observation lacked heat, and Tank grinned, knowing we were both feeling proud of her unwillingness to be bullied.

"I think she was more of the ringleader than anything," Tank replied. "Besides Lula, she had her sister, her grandmother, and her best friend there to do the dirty work—oh—and Connie too."

"Her _grandmother?_"

Tank lifted his palms. "That's what Lula said when the cops brought her home around Midnight."

"If Edna was there, it's a wonder they aren't all in the funeral home." Deciding it was time to get down to business, I added, "You get a hold of Santos?"

"He's parked across the street from the Morellis as we speak."

Having been too tired when I left Morelli's house to deal with multiple phone calls, I'd contacted Tank to arrange for Cheryl's interim protection. At the same time, I'd brought him up to speed on everything that had transpired over the past twenty-four hours, including the link between Cheryl's stalker and Morelli's homicide investigation.

What I'd failed to disclose was the kiss with Cheryl, and my plans to take her to my home outside of Princeton for safekeeping—the latter of which needed to be addressed immediately.

In a rare show of fatigue, I ran a hand over my face.

"As soon as Ella checks in this morning, tell her to head on out to the Princeton site and get it ready. I need it cleaned, stocked and fully operational by late this afternoon."

Tank's eyebrows rose questioningly.

"I'm not sure how long I'll be staying," I continued, "or if I'll have much of an opportunity to commute while I'm living there, so I'm going to need you to take over the reins here for the unforeseeable future."

"If that's what you want," he agreed in his slow, pain-staking drawl. "But can I ask a question?"

I already knew the question—hell, I knew _all _the questions, because I'd already asked myself the same damned ones a hundred times.

"What?"

"Why the Princeton house?" His eyes captured mine. "That's your _home, _Carlos."

"One I'm barely in."

"Doesn't matter," he insisted stubbornly. "That place is private."

"You see that written in blood someplace?"

"Might as well be!" he shot back. "When have you _ever _taken a woman there?"

There'd only been one woman I'd _wanted_ to take there, and now she was married to the greatest thorn in my side.

"Why not just stay here at Rangeman?" Tank pressed. "The security's equally as good."

I rolled my eyes. "Because Dr. Headcase refused. Said she doesn't feel comfortable with a bunch of men running around."

"Since when do you allow a client to be dictatin' the rules?" Tank asked incredulously.

"Since it's the only way to get the stubborn mule to cooperate!"

His ebony eyes gleamed knowingly. "She's gotten to you, hasn't she?"

_Yes!_

"No—"

"Otherwise, you wouldn't even be _thinkin'_ of taking her there."

I glared back at him. "I'm merely doing a job, Tank—one for which I'm getting paid very well."

"Bullshit! Money has nothing to do with this. You're attracted to Cheryl Sullivan," he accused, sounding rather pleased with the idea.

"Get serious!" I snapped. "I don't have time for games."

Leaning forward, Tank drilled me with an annoyed look of his own.

"_You're_ the one playin' games here, Ranger. You think I don't know when you're attracted to a woman? How many fuckin' years we been together now? And, in all that time, I've only seen you act this unfocused and undisciplined twice—once with Stephanie and once with—"

I gave him a fierce look, willing him _not_ to mention Aailyah's name. The pain was too close to the surface after having just relived our tumultuous past at Morelli's house.

His eyes instantly softened as he read my mind. "You been thinkin' 'bout Aaliyah again—haven't you?"

_Shit. _

Like they did with Lula, people often underestimated Tank. They assumed he was slow and dimwitted because of his massive size, when, in fact, nothing could be further from the truth. The man was not only intelligent but highly perceptive as well.

And knowing there was no way to bluff him, I stopped trying.

"It's hard to ignore the similarities," I admitted, resentful over how my tough-guy persona had fallen into the crapper of late.

Tank eased back cautiously. "In looks?"

I tilted my head in consideration. "That—plus the fact they're both in tremendous danger and relying upon me for protection."

"The situations are entirely different, Carlos," he quickly pointed out. "_You're _different—"

Despite my embarrassment and frustration, I felt calmer now that I'd admitted the truth to the one person who knew everything aboutmy past.

"I realize things are different, but it _feels _the same somehow."

He sobered. "I was just playin' with you before, but now I can see Doc Sullivan really _has _gotten to you. Is it as bad as it was with Stephanie?"

Frowning, I stared down at a Mother of Pearl letter opener resting on top of my desk. "It's different. _Cheryl_ is different. She may look like her, but she's definitely not Stephanie."

Tank continued to push. "And you're _sure_ you're not transferring unresolved feelings for Stephanie onto Cheryl?"

_Transferring unresolved feelings?_

"You taking up psychology now?" I jeered, slightly amused despite myself.

"I'm serious."

"Me too. Cut the shit. One shrink is already _more_ than I can handle."

"Answer the question."

My jaw clenched. "_No_, Tank, I'm not _transferring _my feelings for Stephanie onto Cheryl."

_At least, I hoped I wasn't. But what if I was transferring my feelings for Aaliyah onto BOTH of them? _

"Stephanie is a closed door. I've accepted that," I finished resolutely.

"For real?" Tank's expression was implacable.

"I'll always love her," I relented, "but I'm ready to shift that love into a different category."

_Hopefully that of business partner, although I wasn't prepared to discuss the possibility with anyone yet—not even Tank—until I'd talked with the Morellis face to face._

Tank still wasn't convinced I was indeed over Stephanie.

"I have to ask one more time. Are you _sure_ you want me to have Ella prepare the house?"

Crazy as the notion was, I _did _want to take Cheryl to my home—my _real _home in the country. I wanted to know she was completely safe while we figured out who the hell was stalking her. I craved the chance to get away from my own stressful life for a while as well as my recent unwanted memories of the past. But mostly, I desired the chance to have Cheryl completely to myself, so I could explore the myriad of emotions she'd reawakened in me. I needed to know if they were real or if Tank was right, and they were merely unfulfilled needs transferred from my disappointment over Stephanie.

"I'm sure."

"All right," he yielded. "I'll take care of it, while you get some sleep." He stood. "Anything else you want me to handle with regard to Cheryl's situation?"

I grimaced. "Not much we _can _do now that Morelli's involved. He's made it more than clear it's his show to run."

Tank smirked. "Since when has that ever stopped us?"

"It hasn't," I snorted, "but it's in everyone's best interest if we make an effort to cooperate this time. Morelli and I may have separate victims to protect, but we both have the same common goal—to put whoever is behind this shit away forever."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

_7:55 a.m._

The sound of pounding on the front door jolted me out of a deep sleep—that plus Bob's barks of joy over the idea of more visitors. My first panicky thought was that perhaps it was Cheryl's stalker, until commonsense told me to get a clue. No self-respecting stalker would knock on the door to announce his presence. I ought to know. I'd had _more_ than my fair share of weirdos follow me over the years, and most of them _had _knocked on the door.

Disoriented, I sat up only to realize Joe was passed out on top of the bed beside me, fully clothed.

_When had that happened?_

"Pssst—Joe?" I whispered softly.

No response.

Looking down on my husband, I could see total exhaustion had finally exacted its toll. One unruly lock of hair fell across his forehead, making his face appear even paler in the early morning light. A quick glance at the bedside clock showed it was nearing eight o'clock.

Nudging him, I spoke a little louder. "_Joe_—someone's at the door."

He grunted something completely unintelligible and, without opening his eyes, rolled over onto his side facing away from me. For the cop in him _not_ to have instantly awakened revealed just how wiped out he was. And because of it, I didn't have the heart to make him get up and answer the door.

Meanwhile, the pounding continued. _Why the heck hadn't Ranger answered it already?_

Slipping out of bed, I yanked on a pair of sweats and stumbled out into the hallway, where I about collided with Cheryl. Despite having just awakened, she looked like a supermodel in a blue, silk pajama set and matching robe that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs—a fact that didn't necessarily appeal to my pregnant body.

"Who's pounding on your door at eight o'clock on a Saturday morning?" she asked grouchily. We were all tired after the previous night's drama.

Obviously, she didn't know Joe and me well enough yet. Any_ number_ of people would be willing to knock on our door that early in the morning—specifically our mothers.

I headed for the stairs. "Where's Ranger?"

"Don't look at me," she huffed. "I went to bed when you did last night, remember? What about Joe?"

"Currently comatose."

Bob met us at the foot of the stairs, nearly beside himself with excitement.

"Who's at the door, boy, huh?" I murmured, grabbing hold of his collar. "What's all the excitement about?"

Whoever it was pounded again.

"Steph, open the door!" a muffled male voice bellowed plaintively from the other side.

"Lenny?" I called, completely stunned.

_Shit. _More than likely he was there to hassle me about his wife having come home totally schnockered the night before.

"Who's Lenny?" Cheryl wondered nervously, holding the sides of her robe together more tightly.

"Mary Lou's husband."

"Who's Mary Lou?"

"A fellow cow wrangler."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. You might want to go back upstairs though. This could get ugly."

She hesitated. "Will you be okay?"

"Me?" I laughed nervously. "I'm fine." _At least I hoped I'd be._ "Lenny's a friend. Go on, and take Bob with you though. I don't want him to wake Joe."

Cheryl scampered back upstairs with Bob in tow, while I opened the door. To my shock, not only was Lenny standing there, but Albert, and my father as well.

"Finally!" Lenny huffed. "We were beginning to think maybe you'd been asphyxiated from cow fumes."

"What are you doing here?" I asked bemusedly, running a hand through my crazy hair. "Is everything okay?" I cast my father a dubious glance. "Dad? What's going on?"

Albert puffed his chest out proudly. "We've come to clean out _my_ trailer and _your_ car."

I couldn't believe my ears.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, we're serious," Lenny jumped in before Albert could respond. "We can't stick Joe with it—not after what he already had to endure with the girls last night. And you're worthless—"

"Hey!"

"—because of your _pregnancy_," he added hastily and then scowled. "Just what the hell were you thinking last night anyway, Morelli? A pregnant woman stealing a cow?"

Unfazed, I lifted one shoulder and said the two words that always managed to trump any guilt over my foolishness.

"Terry Gilman."

Lenny rolled his eyes. "I'd like to bawl you out, but if what Mary Lou managed to tell me is true—that is when her head wasn't stuck in the toilet—I guess I would've done the same."

It was freezing cold standing in the doorway, and I had no desire to rehash yet _again _what had transpired at Gilman's place.

"Seriously, Lenny, what are you doing here? I know you don't willingly want to clean up horse shit."

"You got that right! But the girls insisted."

As drunk as Val and Mary Lou had been, I was amazed to think they still had that kind of pull over their husbands.

"How _is_ Val?" I asked Albert suspiciously.

"Not so hot," he replied, looking pale and sickly in his own right. Then again—he always did. "I dropped the girls and Albie off at a friend's place, so she could rest in peace—_not _that she's like dead or anything."

Lenny sniggered. "If she's anywhere as bad as Mare, I'm guessing death wouldn't be all that unwelcome."

"Shouldn't you be there with her?" I asked my brother-in-law pointedly.

"Uh—no," Albert frowned. "Snoogums isn't exactly in the best of moods this morning."

"Meaning?"

"Picture the chick from "The Exorcist" with her head spinning in circles, and you get the idea."

Unfortunately, when it came to my sister, I could picture it all too clearly.

Albert continued, "She wanted the kids out of the house before they realized the real cause of her 'flu'. Plus, she was worried you'd try to clean up the mess in your car and the trailer by yourself."

"Mary Lou was fretting about that too," Lenny chimed in. He drew himself up to his full height. "So being the dutiful husbands that we are—"

It suddenly dawned on me _why _they were so eager to help me.

"They promised you _sex_, didn't they!"

Albert blushed next to my father, and I knew right away I was correct. Dad, however, seemed unfazed by the whole conversation. Instead, he looked—tired.

"What's your excuse for being here?" I asked cautiously. I wasn't about to ask if my mother had promised _him_ sex too. "How's Grandma?"

"Still snoring like a chainsaw," he growled in response. "None of us slept a wink last night."

Swallowing hard, I forged ahead, "And Mom?"

Another grunt. "Let's just say there've already been a hell of a lot of rosaries recited over the ironing board this morning."

_Great._

"Should I call her?"

"Not until she's had a chance to calm down."

"Is she still that angry?"

"Mostly about the loss of your grandmother's dentures. Personally, I think it was the best part of the deal."

"You didn't actually _say _that, did you?"

"Of course I did."

"Jeez, Dad!"

"It's the truth!" he insisted. "But I'm no dumbbell. When Albert called to say he was coming over here with Lenny, I saw my chance to escape."

"What about Jessie?"

"_Hunh—_trying to sleep!"

Lenny stomped his boots on the front step. "It's cold out here, Steph. Can't we talk inside?" He jerked his head toward the street. "And what's with the gang-mobile over there?"

Until then, I hadn't noticed the black Tahoe parked across the street. At my inspection, the window rolled down, and Lester gave me a two-fingered salute. Ranger had evidently assigned him to watch the place while he went to Rangeman.

Smiling wanly, I said, "It's complicated, and now isn't exactly the best time to come in. Joe just got home a little bit ago. He's upstairs trying to sleep."

"All right, then just get us the SUV keys," Lenny ordered gruffly.

"It's too cold to clean a car outside, Stankovic. You guys will freeze."

"Lenny's got a friend who owns an auto-detail shop," Albert piped up gleefully. "The guy won't touch the job with a ten-foot pole, but he's going to let us use one of his cleaning bays for free."

It was kind of scary how excited my brother-in-law was at the prospect of cleaning up horse manure.

"Hang on." Heading for the kitchen, I hoped they wouldn't change their minds while I was gone. Returning almost immediately, I offered sincerely, "I owe you one."

"Yeah, you do," Lenny grumbled in agreement. He leaned in and gave me an awkward hug. "Someday, I want complete details on how you managed to best Gilman. Mary Lou's version was sketchy at best."

"I'll bet," I muttered. Only I wondered how much of her omission was alcohol-induced and how much of it was self-preservation?

Lenny and Albert headed down the walkway, but my father remained.

I gave him a sheepish look. "I'm sorry about, Grandma, Dad."

What might've passed for a smile crossed his face. "Let's just hope they can't make her a new set of dentures right away."

Grinning, I advised, "Wear a mask. My car smells downright rank."

He pulled a respirator out of his jacket pocket. "Can't be any worse than when your grandmother eats bean soup."

"Dad!"

He cracked a small smile. "Get some rest, Pumpkin."

As soon as they left, I shrugged into a pair of boots and a winter coat and trudged over to where Lester was parked.

"How'd you get stuck with this lousy detail?"

"Hey, beautiful," he greeted flirtatiously. "You know it's never a hardship to watch over you."

"Uh-huh. Where's your boss?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Sleeping, I guess. Tank was the one who called me."

"You just follow orders, right?" I noted dryly.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a perfect imitation of his cousin. "That's right. Tank makes the call, and—presto—here I am."

"_Hunh—_if Tank's at work, that must mean Lula is okay too." Relieved at the thought, I made a mental note to check on Connie later as well.

Lester slid his sunglasses down his nose to look me directly in the eye. "Why? What happened to Lula?"

"You mean you haven't heard?" I quipped sarcastically. When he shook his head, I rolled my eyes. "Then I'll give you the pleasure of hearing it through the grapevine, but just remember—as bad as it sounds—"

Lester's eyes lit up with amusement. "Yeah?"

Leaning in, I whispered. "The truth is even worse."

He laughed appreciatively before his expression turned serious. "What I'd rather hear about is what's going on in that house of yours? Tank only told me to keep an eye on you and Dr. Sullivan. Why is she here? Is it Morelli? Is he having flashbacks again or something?"

I wasn't sure how much Ranger wanted his cousin to know about Cheryl's situation, so I tried to imitate one of my former mentor's impassive stares. "It's not Joe."

"Well?" Lester pressed.

"Gotta go," I replied cheekily. Sending him a jaunty two-fingered salute, I hustled back toward the house. It felt good to leave one of Ranger's men wanting information instead of me for a change.

Inside, I found Cheryl in the kitchen, fully dressed (thank goodness), and scrounging through our refrigerator for something to eat, while Bob looked to be chewing on one of Joe's old tennis shoes in the corner.

"Everything okay?" she asked, turning her head to study me over her shoulder.

"Better than okay. My father, brother-in-law and best friend's husband are going to clean out my car _and_ the horse trailer."

"What's the deal with that horse trailer anyway? You never said last night."

She straightened with a carton of eggs in her hand, and my stomach growled instinctively_. _

"It's a long story."

Cheryl made a face. "Well, I've got plenty of time—too much of it in fact."

Being cooped up in our house—or for that matter, the safe house—was going to be incredibly difficult for someone as independent as the feisty psychiatrist. I wasn't nearly as self-sufficient as she was, but I could relate to her feeling of despair over having to relinquish control. For Cheryl it was her stalker.

For me, it was the idea of motherhood.

Feeling an odd sense of kinship, I decided the least I could do was give her some entertainment, even if it was at my own expense.

"I'll bore you with the details over breakfast," I offered, my mouth beginning to water. "That _is_ what you're planning on doing with the eggs, right—make breakfast?"

She grinned knowingly. "I take it the three of you are hungry?"

"Famished," I sighed. "I'm going to grab a quick shower, and then I'll be back to help, which you'll soon learn doesn't mean much. I'm a lousy cook."

"Well, I'm no Julia Child, but I can probably manage to scramble eggs," she offered. "Should I make some for Joe?"

I shook my head. "He needs sleep more than anything."

Cheryl instinctively shifted into professional mode. "I noticed he looked pretty wiped out last night. Is it just the case, or something else too?"

Despite the casualness of her query, I froze inside. I still wasn't used to the idea of speaking to a psychiatrist, even one that had been very helpful to both Joe and me in recent weeks.

"Uh—"

"Stephanie," she said quietly. "I'm not being nosy. I care very much about Joe—_and _you."

"I know." My arms crossed defensively over my chest. I felt frumpy and bloated next to her trim figure dressed in jeans and a form-fitting sweater. "It's just—"

"Do you feel as though you're betraying Joe if you talk to me?"

_Dang, she was good. _

"Kind of."

Setting the carton on the counter, she moved closer. "I can appreciate that."

"He's just under a lot of stress," I mumbled anxiously. "His job—Jessie—Tony's hospitalization—Paul's behavior—"

I stopped, knowing Joe probably wouldn't be happy I'd blabbed all that, but it was such a relief to finally be able to release all the concern I'd been holding back since coming home from the hospital. As uncomfortable as I was talking to a shrink, sharing my fears with Cheryl _had _helped me in the hospital. And _I_ wanted nothing more than to be able to help my husband.

"I've tried to call him multiple times since your hospitalization," Cheryl said. "He's avoiding me."

_Hunh—he was avoiding A LOT of things—including talking with his mother._

"He is," I agreed simply. "And I don't know why."

"I think I do." One look at her face told me Cheryl wasn't about to go into a detailed explanation. "You mentioned Paul. How _was_ Thanksgiving? Did you see him?"

"Saw him—heard him—wanted to kill him."

"That bad?"

"Worse. We know for certain he's drinking heavily, and now Joe's worried he might be doing drugs too."

If Cheryl was shocked, she hid it well.

"Sounds like a lot has happened since I last saw you in the hospital."

My stomach skittered nervously. "I guess."

"Are _you_ and _Joe_ okay?"

My guard went up even further. "Yeah—we're fine. Why wouldn't we be?"

The psychiatrist shrugged her shoulders. "No reason. I just know you had concerns when we talked at the hospital. If Joe is struggling with his emotions, it wouldn't be out of line to think some of it might spill over into your relationship."

While I liked Cheryl a lot, the woman sure knew how to make a person feel like a specimen under a microscope at times.

"We really haven't had much time together since my discharge from the hospital," I admitted. "Between the murder investigation and the holidays, we've been pretty busy."

She began scrounging through our lower cabinets for a frying pan, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to question another couple's marriage while cooking in their kitchen.

Her head was practically buried among pots and pans. "And are you okay with that?"

"It can't be helped."

"That's not what I asked."

"Listen, Cheryl—"

Head still in the cabinet, she turned and gave me a rather exasperated look. "Stephanie, I'm _not_ prying, but I _am_ willing to bet I'm the only person—other than the two of you—who understands everything that's been going on these past few weeks. You and Joe _both _need someone to talk to."

Drawn by her compassion, I crossed until I stood over her.

My voice lowered. "It's complicated."

"What is?"

"Everything—what Joe is going through at work, his family issues, my pregnancy, Ranger—"

"What about Ranger?"

Cheryl flung her head back so quickly, she nearly smacked it on the edge of the countertop. Her voice sounded sharp and questioning, causing me to instinctively recoil. Seeing my shock, she held up a hand.

"I'm sorry. That was extremely unprofessional."

Still puzzled by her reaction, I responded carefully, "It's okay."

"No, it isn't," she insisted. "I apologize."

She looked downright furious with herself. _Why had she gotten so upset over my mentioning Ranger's name?_

My eyes met hers. "Is something going on between you and Ranger, Cheryl?"

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

_Oh God._

_You idiot—now look at what you've done!_

"What do you mean?" I hedged. "You know he's been hired by my father to protect—"

"I mean _personally._"

My palms began to sweat. "Don't be silly."

Stephanie stared at me. "It's impossible not to feel the electricity between you two. What with the pet names and all, it just feels like there's something more going on than a business relationship."

_How was I supposed to answer? _

"They aren't pet names. They're more like insults."

"Come on—admit it. There's definitely a spark when you're anywhere near one another. I saw it at the hospital too."

I wanted to throw up. _Was Stephanie upset? Jealous? She'd just mentioned Ranger's name as one of her complications, and even though I know she loved Joe, was it possible she still loved Ranger too? _

Standing, I said firmly. "There's nothing going on between Ranger and me." _Except for the most amazing kiss I'd ever experienced in my life. _"And even if there was an attraction—which there isn't—how could there be anything between us? We both know his heart belongs to _you_."

Stephanie grimaced. "Not anymore. We talked when I was in the hospital, and Ranger understands I'm fully committed to Joe."

"That doesn't mean a thing. You don't just tell your heart to 'understand'."

"Ranger does," she smirked. "Besides, he went to Miami in order to get his head on straight. He wouldn't have come back if he wasn't ready to get on with his life."

"Are _you_ ready to get on with yours?" I blurted and immediately wanted to kick myself.

She looked at me as if I'd sprouted antlers. "Of course I am! What's that supposed to mean?"

_Damn it, Cheryl! You're blowing this. Don't put your professional reputation at risk._

"Never mind," I offered weakly. "It's none of my business."

"It is when you make a comment like that!" she accused angrily, hands on her hips. "What is it you're really asking?"

"Forget it." I shot her a smile to try and diffuse the sudden awkwardness.

"No way. I want an answer."

"It's truly nothing. I was just thinking perhaps you aren't completely over Ranger." _God, how I wish I'd never started the conversation._

"Of course I'm over him!" she practically growled. " I told you I was at the hospital."

"Yes, but a minute ago, you said Ranger was a complication."

The question seemed to throw a bucket of ice water on Stephanie's fiery outrage, and her expression softened. "He _is _a complication, but not in the way you think."

Annoyed by the instantaneous relief I felt, I slipped weakly onto a chair at the kitchen table. Though filled with raging curiosity, I felt compelled to offer, "You don't have to say anything if it makes you too uncomfortable."

Stephanie gave me a look that left no doubt she wasn't buying my supposed lack of interest in her former lover.

_Damn!_

"Ranger made a business proposal to me when I was in the hospital." Again, the words seemed to pop out of Stephanie's mouth before she could stop them.

_What? _That was the _last _thing I'd expected her to say.

She continued, "He wants to buy out my former boss and take over the bonds agency where I used to work."

My eyes widened disbelievingly. "Ranger wants you to go back to _skip chasing_?"

_Was he crazy? Stephanie's pregnancy was far too precarious to take such a risk!_

"No, he wants me to co-own the business with him. I'd manage the office."

"And what would he do?"

"Be a silent partner."

_Hunh—silent, my ass. _

I couldn't keep the skepticism out of my voice. "Think he could do that—remain silent?"

Stephanie's eyes narrowed. "You sound like Joe."

No, I sounded like any reasonable human being who knows how much Ranger loves Stephanie. _Was this his way of keeping her in his life?_

Regardless of the answer, I needed to stay in control of my professional abilities.

"It's a valid question, Stephanie. Does Joe even know about this business proposition? I can't imagine he'd be too thrilled over the idea."

"Especially when Ranger made the offer behind Joe's back."

"Sneaky but predictable given what little I know of him."

"To answer your question—yes—Joe knows, and he's not happy. We were supposed to meet this weekend to discuss it with Ranger."

"And now that meeting is ruined because of me," I stated the obvious.

She lifted a shoulder. "Don't feel badly. It probably wouldn't have happened anyway. There are other complications besides Joe's lack of interest—namely Tony."

"What about Tony? I thought he was doing better?"

"That's sort of a complicated story too."

"Well, I _still _have tons of time to listen."

Stephanie smiled genuinely at my sarcasm, and I breathed a sigh of relief that the tension between us had been diffused. I truly did want to help both of the Morellis, and my inexplicable jealously wouldn't help that goal.

Sitting down across from me, she began, "The short version is Joe received a large reward following the Kennard case. At first, he refused the money, but the woman who gave it to him was very convincing as to why he should accept it. When he finally did, he used a good portion of it to pay for our wedding in Barbados, including paying for both our immediate families and our closest friends to join us down there."

From the little I knew about Joe Morelli, that action seemed perfectly in sync with his character.

"I'm guessing you want to use whatever money is left over from the reward to go into business with Ranger."

"I did," Stephanie acknowledged almost shame-facedly. "But there isn't enough left, and now there's an even greater complication."

"Tony?"

"Right. There's a chance the judge may forego a jail sentence for missing his court date and allow Tony to go directly to a rehab facility instead."

"But that's _good_ news—right?"

"Very good," she agreed. "Joe says Tony has really changed since the shooting. He's sober and has come to some pretty powerful realizations of his own about his past. I guess he's even been talking with a priest, because the priest was the one who suggested the rehab deal."

"It sounds as though the judicial system is going to bat for Tony, so what's the issue?"

"Money," Stephanie responded bluntly. "The facility where they want to send Tony costs _major _bucks, and Tony has no money and no insurance now that he's unemployed. The only way for him to go would be if someone paid his way."

"Someone—meaning Joe," I assumed.

She exhaled loudly. "Right."

_What a mess. First, Ranger used rather underhanded tactics to woo Stephanie into business, and now Tony's future was hanging in the balance based upon Joe and Stephanie's financial status._

I waited several moments before asking carefully, "What do you think about the situation?"

Stephanie's defensive shield slid protectively back into place. "There's not much to think about. Joe needs to give Tony the money."

"Why?" It was an honest question, because in my mind, after what those two had endured, they didn't owe anyone anything.

"Because he's family." Her tone indicated I was either incredibly naïve or incredibly dumb.

Maybe I was both_, _because I certainly didn't have the same sense of loyalty toward my family. I was a Sullivan by birth—not necessarily out of allegiance.

"A family member who indirectly caused you bodily harm out in that swamp," I reminded her.

Stephanie crossed one knee over the other and began to jiggle it up and down. I was beginning to suspect there was more between Tony and her than merely what had happened as a result of that awful night a few weeks ago.

"Have you even talked with Tony since the swamp?" I pressed.

Not able to meet my eyes, she shook her head.

"Would you like to?"

"I don't know if _Joe_ would want me to."

"You know—you're awfully good at avoiding the real question. I asked if _you'd_ like to talk to Joe's brother."

She stared at the tabletop and whispered, "Sometimes I feel like it's the only way I'm ever going to get past what happened—especially after he nearly assaulted me in this very kitchen."

My heart clenched. Joe had shared much with me about his brothers, but he'd failed to mention this important detail.

"When was that?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Forget it. It's another long story, and I'm too hungry to get into it right now."

It was clear Stephanie was still wrestling with her own demons—one being her brother-in-law. Taking a chance, I reached across the table for her hand.

"Mind if I give you some advice—both as a therapist and—dare I say—a new friend?"

Eyeing me warily, she barely acknowledged the question with a slight jerk of her head.

"Go see Tony. I have no idea what happened between you two, but, Stephanie, you can't face this situation with Ranger and the bonds agency until you face your emotions regarding Tony and _his_ situation."

"I don't know—everything is so—"

"Are you afraid to see him alone?"

"Not really."

"Then what's preventing you?" I pushed, knowing it was what she needed—a not-so-subtle nudge. "Today—right after breakfast."

"I can't just walk out of here and leave you alone. Besides, Joe—"

"Joe is passed out upstairs and unlikely to resurface for several more hours, and you know it. And when it comes right down to it, don't you think _this _particular conversation is between you and Tony? Do you _want _Joe there?"

"God, no! Joe would want to kill him again."

"Exactly. As for me—I'm fine and perfectly capable of taking care of myself, a fact I keep telling Ranger and my family, but they refuse to listen."

"Still—"

"Please don't feel as though you have to babysit me," I insisted. "I'm stuck here until whenever Ranger decides to show up, but that doesn't mean you have to be stuck too."

She tried to read my face. "Are you _sure_ there isn't something going on between the two of you? I'm no psychiatrist, but I'm pretty good at sensing things, and you seem confused. If you want to talk—"

Stephanie was the _last _person with whom I'd want to discuss my jumbled feelings toward Ranger!

"It's a business arrangement—nothing more," I insisted, trying hard to sound indifferent.

"If you say so." It was clear she didn't believe me.

_Funny—neither did I._

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

_10:05 a.m._

_How was it possible the clock had only moved two minutes since the last time I'd checked?_

Groaning, I continued to pace the Morelli's living room. Stephanie had left two hours earlier—ostensibly to run some errands, but I had my suspicions there was one particular destination she had in mind.

I hoped so anyway.

Joe was still crashed upstairs, and Bob had long ago given up on trying to keep up with my laps about the room. He'd gone upstairs to wait outside the bedroom door for his master.

Meanwhile, I was tired, antsy and bored out of my _mind_. _Where the hell was Ranger? _He'd more or less deserted me, other than to leave one of his lackeys out front to stand guard. Even though I knew that wasn't true, I was human. I was allowed to have a few not-so-rational thoughts like everyone else once in a while.

_God, how was I going to manage being isolated in a strange place for days on end? _I hadn't even been at the Morellis for twelve hours, and I was already going stir crazy. I was a woman used to being on the go—independent and driven by my work.

_Work!_

Crap, I hadn't had any contact with Evan since the day before Thanksgiving. He had no idea about this latest threat or about the plan to put me in a safe house. _How would my absence affect our practice?_

Neither my father nor Ranger had returned my cell phone, which only added to my feelings of isolation. Heading into the kitchen, I picked up the cordless and quickly dialed Evan's home number.

"Hello?" he asked questioningly. Familiar with the Morelli name from my dealings with Joe, I'm sure Evan was confused as to why Joe would be calling _him._

"It's me," I said quietly into the receiver.

"Cheryl?" Evan's evenly modulated tone went instantly alert. "What's going on? My caller ID says you're at Morelli's house. Is he okay?"

"Joe's fine," I assured him. "I'm the one who currently has an issue."

"Huh? I wasn't expecting you back from Boston until Monday morning. What's happened? Did you have a disagreement with your mother? Why didn't you just go to your apartment? Did you have damage from the snowstorm? Why didn't you call me? I would have—"

"Evan," I gently interrupted his concerned monologue. "If you'll take a breath, I'll explain."

"I'm sorry," he apologized meekly, which caused my eyes to roll. I adored my best friend and partner, but he was a real wimp when it came to being assertive.

"Don't be sorry. I'm glad you care."

"What happened, Sully?"

My heart warmed at the endearment. It felt so good to talk with someone who really knew me.

I had no idea what Joe and Ranger would want me to say about the situation, but I knew what _I _wanted to say—the truth. I needed to lean on someone who understood and loved me, particularly after the crazy moment of passion I'd shared with Ranger in front of my apartment. And seeing as neither Morelli n_or _Manoso was there to tell me differently, I went with my gut.

"While I was in Boston, I had two disturbing phone calls. The first was from Javier."

Evan sucked in his breath. "No—"

"And the other happened on Thanksgiving night. It was a recorded message. The person on the other end of the line berated me for breaking his heart and told me I'd see what a real broken heart looked like. He was telling the truth too. When I got to my apartment last night, there was a cooler on my front stoop." My voice hitched. "Evan, it contained a human heart on ice."

"Dear God!" he murmured. I could easily picture him turning pale.

Evan was horribly squeamish about blood. It was the main reason why he'd bailed out of medical school at U of M and turned to psychiatry, despite the fact that both of his parents were highly renowned surgeons at the U of M Medical Center.

"What did you do? Why didn't you call me!" he chided.

"I wasn't alone." Pausing briefly to swallow my pride, I forged ahead, "Ranger Manoso was with me."

"Ranger Manoso," he echoed musingly. "_What_ in the world is a Ranger Manoso?"

I grinned at his disdainful tone. "I told you about him, Evan. He was the man who led us into the swamp after Stephanie Morelli a few weeks back."

"The Neanderthal?" I hadn't painted a very nice picture of Ranger in my initial report.

"Yes, him."

"I'm confused. Why was _he_ with you?"

"It's a long story—one I'm still angry about—but the gist is that Ranger knows my father, my brother _and _Mac. Dad and Ranger ran into one another at Logan during Thursday's snowstorm, and Dad invited him to Thanksgiving dinner. After I received the threatening call, the two of them cooked up a deal where Manoso is to provide personal security for me until whoever made the phone call can be found."

"I've said all along you need protection," Evan reproved.

"Don't start," I warned. "I've had my fill of men thinking they know better than I do."

"I'm still confused. What's the deal with the heart? Did the voice on the machine sound at all like Javier?"

"It sounded like a machine," I reiterated, feeling frustrated. "The heart is the only part that truly freaks me out. Turns out it belonged to a young stripper that was murdered right before Thanksgiving."

I sensed Evan's frown through the receiver. He probably had his free hand cupped beneath his chin, trying to process all I was saying.

"I haven't heard anything about a murder," he remarked.

"I'm guessing it's confidential information, but at the moment, I don't care. I need for you to know, Evan. You're my rock."

His voice warmed considerably. "And you're mine, Sully. You know that."

"It's killing me to think about some child being murdered in order to get to me."

"And it's killing _me_ to know you're going through this, but you're a professional. You know this isn't your fault." Sounding more urgent, he continued, "Let me come get you, Cheryl. You can stay with me—"

"God, wouldn't I'd love to!" _Especially after last night's kiss._ "But, like I said, my father made this deal with Manoso."

"Where will you be staying? And what about the office?"

"I'm not sure where we're going yet. It sounds like Ranger has some kind of house outside of Princeton. Once I have a better idea, I'll call you." I sighed. "As for work, I guess I'm out indefinitely. I hate_ that_ most of all—leaving you on your own to handle both your clients _and _mine!"

"Don't think a thing of it!" he ordered. "You'd do the same for me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would."

"Then stop worrying, and start concentrating on keeping yourself safe."

"Yes sir!" I quipped cheekily.

"At some point, you'll need to update me on your current caseload."

"I have it on my computer. I'll send you an e-mail later with all the details."

"What will you do in the meantime? You're about to have an awful lot of free time on your hands."

"Don't remind me. Maybe I'll take advantage of the break and work on my book." Evan was one of the few people who knew I was working on a psychological thriller in my free time.

"But what about this Ranger character? You say he knows _Mac?_"

"They're both Army."

Evan made some sort of non descriptive grunt. "Do you trust him to keep you safe?"

_Ah—the question of the day._

I thought back to the swamp and our search for Stephanie. Ranger had been an amazing force that day, having led us through terrible conditions with a calm sense of leadership brought on by years of military experience. If I had to base my answer strictly on his ability to protect, then yes, I trusted him.

The problem was my heart.

My _heart_ was still bitterly angry over the way he and my father had engineered a deal behind my back. Worse yet, the sexual attraction that continued to sizzle between us fueled a different kind of emotion—one I hadn't quite been able to identify yet. And to make it even more confusing, he'd already cracked my heart by using last night's kiss as a way to manipulate me into compliance, even though my head knew _his _heart belonged to Stephanie.

_Maybe the question wasn't did I trust Ranger, but rather did I trust my heart?_

"I'll be fine," I answered simply.

"You'll call me." It wasn't a question.

"As soon as I can," I promised. "And I'll send you that e-mail right away."

"I'm not worried about work. I'm worried about you, Sully."

_So was I—but for very different reasons._

* * *

**Joe's POV**

_12:30 p.m._

_What?_

My bleary eyes squinted at the digital display on the alarm clock next to the bed. _Was it really twelve thirty?_

Bob's toenails were scratching at the closed bedroom door, and his pitiful whine let me know of his unhappiness. Groggy and completely disoriented, I glanced down and found I was still dressed in my clothes from the day before. I also realized the bed beside me was empty.

_Where was Stephanie?_

Needing a cup of coffee desperately to shake the cobwebs from my brain, I rolled out of bed. I needed a shower too, but that would have to wait. I wanted my wife and caffeine—and in that order.

Bob was beside himself when I opened the door, practically mowing me down like a linebacker for the Jets. After several frantic pats and a few muttered praises, I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen only to find Cheryl sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop. She had her hair in a ponytail, a pair of tortoise shell computer glasses perched on her nose, a set of headphones in her ears and her bare feet up on the chair beside her keeping time to the music.

Seeing me, she ripped the buds from her ears and took off her glasses. "Hey, Rip—I didn't think you'd be up until the next century."

I tried to ignore the immediate discomfort I felt at being alone with her by casually looking around for Stephanie.

"She's not here, but there's coffee made if you need it, and I can fix you something to eat—"

"Coffee's fine," I answered abruptly, disappointed that the other half of my wake-up desires was missing. "Where _is_ Steph?"

"She had an errand to run."

"What errand?"

Cheryl shrugged innocently enough, but my cop instincts—fuzzy as they were—kicked into gear.

"Was it to her mom's?" No doubt Helen had browbeat her into going over there after last night's fiasco.

"Mmmm," Cheryl hummed noncommittally. She began to put her laptop away. "Sure I can't fix you some lunch?"

The psychiatrist was definitely putting me off, but I didn't have the energy to push—not yet. I was still too groggy and uncomfortable with being alone with her without the buffer of Stephanie.

"No thanks. I think I'll—uh—just grab a shower."

Pausing with her computer halfway into its bag, Cheryl drilled me with a look.

"How long do you plan on avoiding me, Joe?"

Her bluntness took me aback.

"I'm _not—_"

"Of course you are, and I know why." Zipping the bag with an extra measure of force, she continued, "You're embarrassed about having broken down with me on that helicopter ride from the swamp to the hospital."

"That's crazy," I snapped dismissively, moving over to the counter to get a cup of coffee. I needed to busy my hands.

"Is it?" she pressed. "Until last night, you've refused to speak with me in any capacity, despite numerous phone calls on my part to touch base. That night, you _told _me you had a tough guy reputation to uphold. I think you're self-conscious about having lost control and even more mortified over the possibility you might've smeared your rep."

"It was nothing," I denied and took a big swallow of the black blood that fueled my system on most days. "You were right. I needed to release all that pent up emotion before seeing Stephanie."

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that," Cheryl encouraged sarcastically.

"It's true!" _Where the hell was Stephanie? _

Part of me was anxious to see my wife, and the other was grateful she wasn't there to hear about my massive implosion the night she was rescued.

Cheryl continued with her badgering, "Let me ask you a question. Before that night, when was the last time you cried, Joe?"

My throat literally seized shut, and it took a minute before I could choke out a single word.

"What?"

Her eyebrow arched. "You're a smart man, and it's a simple question. Prior to two weeks ago, when was the last time you cried?"

"How the hell should I know?" I lashed out. _Liar. Liar. Liar._ "I'm thirty-five years old!"

Cheryl stood abruptly and moved toward where I stood at the counter.

"Come on—a tough guy like you?" she goaded rather tauntingly. "I bet you could name every single time you've cried."

"Why are you doing this?" I growled. "For Christ's sake—I just got up. Quit pushing me!"

Her voice softened. "It was when your father died, wasn't it."

"No!" I retorted. "_None _of us shed a single tear at his funeral—except for my mother and grandmother. I told you that."

She hopped up onto the counter, so we were eye-to-eye. "I'm not talking about at the funeral. But later you cried, didn't you."

Spinning away, I announced gruffly, "I'm going to take a shower—"

"It's not going to help, Joe," Cheryl said quietly. "Avoiding me—avoiding telling Stephanie the truth about how broken you were that night in the helicopter—pretending everything is okay when _nothing _is okay in your head right now—_none _of it's going to help. You are a man on a one-way collision course with an emotional breakdown if you don't start talking to someone."

The familiar rage I'd been swallowing day after day since Stephanie's kidnapping burned in my throat. Swinging around, I glared at her.

"I don't have time to _talk_. I have a major murder investigation to oversee and a surprisingly inept boss to deal with. Meanwhile, I've got one brother in the hospital, another self-destructing, and a wife with a high-risk pregnancy. And _you _are way out of line pushing me like this!"

Most people would've backed down after a tirade like that. The infamous Morelli temper was downright ugly when allowed to escape. But Cheryl, with her damned quirky methods of counseling, merely grinned knowingly.

"You _still_ haven't answered the question. Before the helicopter incident, when was the last time you cried?"

I threw my hands into the air, nearly spilling my coffee. "For God's sake! You're like a dog with a fucking bone. _Yes, _it was at some point after Rocco died." Slamming the cup down onto the counter, I added, "There. Satisfied? Now, can I go take a shower?"

"You may not like my methods, but I _do _care, Joe. And you're right—you do have huge burdens weighing you down right now. All I'm saying is you don't have to carry them alone. I'm here to help you navigate _all_ this crap."

"Thank you, but I _have_ a wife," I reminded her snidely.

She crossed her eyes at me. "And a damned spectacular one at that. This isn't a come-on, dummy. It's a totally non-partisan outsider who is trained to listen. You did before and benefitted from it. What's made you so resistant to me?"

"I—"

"Two words—pride and embarrassment. That's it."

She was right, and we both knew it. Still, that didn't make it any easier.

"I know Stephanie would like to hear all of this directly from you, but until you're able to share with her, you need to share with _someone_. It might as well be me. I'm probably the only therapist in Trenton who can stand talking to a Navy boy."

Her unexpected and well-time joke served its purpose. I finally cracked a slight smile.

"You're a pain in the ass is what you are," I muttered.

"Probably," she agreed wryly. "Now tell me about the last time you cried, Joe."

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

He exhaled in frustration. "_Why _is it so important to you?"

"Not to _me—_to _you_," I clarified; grateful he was finally opening up to me a bit.

I hated pushing him so hard, but anyone with half a brain could see the man was operating on autopilot. He was still filled with an inordinate amount of anger toward his work, his family and a past he was only now really remembering.

"It's important, because it all links together," I explained matter-of-factly.

That caught him off guard. "Links _what_ together?"

"Just answer the question."

With another sigh—this one out of resignation—Joe headed for the living area, gesturing for me to follow. Purposely avoiding the couch, he plopped down onto an oversized armchair. That left the sofa for me.

I held my breath—not daring to say a word. _Was he finally willing to talk?_

"I didn't forget about what happened out there in the garage immediately," he began. "It took weeks and months of everyone brainwashing me until I finally buried the memory. Until then, I thought about it all the time."

"You were in the hospital for how long after the attack?"

"I don't know. About a week and a half, I guess."

"That would traumatic for anyone, but for a little boy—" I paused. My heart simply ached for the child Joe had once been.

"Things changed right away. Ma was in over her head with five kids and no money. She became more and more scattered mentally, yet even more driven physically. She could clean our house until it was practically scrubbed raw, but couldn't bring herself to provide more than the most basic of emotional care for her children. She rarely slept—barely ate. It was scary."

"Your sisters? Did they help her?"

"No—they isolated themselves from the rest of us. At the time, we thought they were merely being moody teenagers, but now I can see they were comforting one another about their own horrific nightmare."

Wrapped in the past, Joe finally began to open up.

"What about Tony and Paul?"

"Tony immediately took on a second job to try and help Ma financially, and when he _wasn't _working, he was out with Paul causing trouble in the bars."

"So _no one_ in your family sought any form of counseling?"

Joe looked at me as if I'd asked him to dance in a tutu. "People didn't do things like that back then, and besides, where would we have gotten the money?"

"The State could've provided—"

He snorted. "Are you kidding me? The State didn't know! The TPD swept the entire incident into the closet. They washed their hands of us faster than Bob can destroy a bowl of kibble."

"So you were all adrift."

Flopping his head back, Joe closed his eyes. "You could say that. Finally my grandmother came to live with us. I think Bella could see my mother was in a bad way."

"She was in a depression."

His head whipped back up. "What?"

"Your mother—she was clinically depressed." A doubtful look crossed Joe's face, and I rushed to continue, "Lack of sleep, no appetite, inability to concentrate on anything other than the most basic of details—those are all classic symptoms of depression. Given her own dealings with your father, compounded by the guilt I'm sure she felt for not having escaped sooner _and _her fears for the future, can you really believe she wouldn't be depressed?"

"I guess." He still didn't look convinced.

"Tell me about the day you finally cried."

Joe stiffened and went quiet, and I assumed he was going to ignore me again.

"It was about six weeks or so after _that _day," he whispered.

"The day he died," I clarified, thinking it was important he begin to accept what actually transpired on that fateful afternoon.

"Yeah. By then I was back in school."

"Was it difficult to be back among your friends?"

His mouth slanted. "You have to understand—even though the official statement put out was that my father had a heart attack, I grew up here in the Burg. _Nothing_ is official. It's just the base for whatever wild stories the rumor mill wants to run with."

While the military held some of those same characteristics, I couldn't even fathom what Joe was describing.

"Kids are kids. Some said stupid things—others could care less," he continued. "For the most part, I was able to jump back into the mainstream of life."

"Except _you _weren't the same," I observed perceptively.

Joe grunted. "Far from it. Mostly I was lonely. Everyone in my family was too busy coping with their own problems to notice me. And when they did pay attention, it was to tell me to forget what had happened."

"It must've been rather surreal."

He nodded, running a weary hand around the back of his neck. "So the school was having an assembly to showcase for parents what the kids had being doing so far. My class was putting on some dumb little skit about Christopher Columbus, and for some reason, the teacher chose me to portray Columbus. I think she felt sorry for me."

I had an uncomfortable suspicion of where his story was headed.

"I'd been feeling confused about all the changes in our family, and a healthy amount of guilt over the fact I'd stabbed my own father."

I couldn't help but interject, "So at that point, you _did _still remember everything?"

"Yes, but it was already getting fuzzier in my mind. Everyone kept telling me I was mistaken—that I'd had a bad dream—that Rocco had really suffered a heart attack, and I'd received all those injuries falling out of a tree I'd tried to climb."

"Seriously?" I asked incredulously. _What had possessed his family to do such a thing?_

His voice grew more ragged. "I told Ma about the play, and she said she'd come. Tony said he'd be there too."

"But they didn't come."

The words hung heavily between us.

Joe shrugged one shoulder indifferently. "It _shouldn't_ have been a big deal."

"It's an awfully big deal to an eight-year old boy, Joe."

"I suppose," he acknowledged listlessly. "Afterschool, I went home and went out to the garage. It was the first time I'd had the courage to go in there since—since that day."

"You were alone when you did that?"

"Yeah. I stepped inside, and right away noticed everything had been cleaned up. There was no blood—no knife—no watch—no nothing. It was like _nothing_ had happened."

"And it confused you even more," I surmised.

"Confused, frustrated, angered—you name it. I didn't know what to believe any more. All I knew was that my family was forever changed, and I was on my own."

"On your own? How so? Your mother took care of you, didn't she?"

"As much as she could. She eventually moved out of her—uh—depression—and was able to meet our family's physical needs. If anything, she was driven to become an even more respected citizen—and me along with her, but that's another story."

There was so much to work our way through—thirty-five years worth of pain and expectation.

_One step at a time, Cheryl!_

Joe looked at me directly for the first time since we'd sat down. "I realized out in the garage after that stupid little play that no one had time to deal with my confusion and questions and uncertainty. They didn't want to listen _or _believe. It hurt—terribly. I cried my guts out that day."

"And then what happened?"

"After I purged it all, I finally figured out, as much as an eight-year old can figure out anything, that I was the _only _person who was going to take care of me."

"Pretty astute for a child," I agreed.

"So I finally chose to accept the lies everyone wanted me to believe and buried the truth in order to survive. It was the only way I could cope."

"When did you remember all this you're telling me, Joe?"

"The moment I remembered the rest—the day Steph was kidnapped. I had instantaneous recall of everything from that point on."

Silence settled between us for several moments, while I processed all he'd said.

Joe finally broke the quiet by saying sardonically, "Well, you won, Cheryl."

"Won?"

"I told you what you wanted to hear. Now tell me how all of this did any fucking good."

Instead of answering him directly, I said, "You know what, Morelli? It's time for you to face your mother."

"Excuse me?" he snorted disbelievingly. "I finally tell you all this shit, and the best you can come up with is I need to face my mother? Give me a break!"

"She's the key to all of this," I forged ahead, ignoring his sarcasm.

"Yeah? How so?" he sneered.

I took a steadying breath. The next few minutes were critical, and I couldn't afford to blow it.

"On _every_ level—the fact that you buried your past and never allowed yourself to cry was a critical coping mechanism. You didn't trust your family's ability to provide for you, so you provided for yourself. Your inability to move forward is linked to never having resolved things with your mom."

"But I did move forward," Joe objected. "I married Steph didn't I? I've been more open with her than anyone in my life—until you."

"Completely open? Does she know about any of this? She already doesn't know about your meltdown on the helicopter. What else doesn't she know?"

"She's pregnant. I don't want—"

I cut him off. "Allowing Stephanie into your life has been another major risk. Tell me—was it easy to tell her you loved her? Did you commit to her right away?"

* * *

**Joe's POV**

Several images of our past immediately came to mind. As teenagers I'd taken her virginity out of true desire for her, but had run at the first opportunity, after it became apparent she was more than just 'another girl'. Following our reunion as adults, I'd tried everything to keep our relationship about sex—even when it was clear Stephanie was looking for something more after the first time we made love. In all honesty, the end of our short engagement had been due to my skittishness over committing to one woman.

"We both had issues—" I fumbled lamely. Cheryl was going somewhere with all this, and I had a strong feeling I wasn't going to like the conclusion.

"I have no doubt that's true," she agreed quickly. "But isn't it _possible_ you held yourself back subconsciously out of fear of being hurt—again? And isn't it _possible _your breakdown in the helicopter wasn't just embarrassing to your tough guy image, but downright threatening to the protective wall you've spent twenty-seven years building around your heart?"

I stood abruptly. "This is getting a little too woo-woo for me—"

Cheryl stood as well and grabbed my arm "Wait! Listen to me—isn't it _possible _you still haven't trusted Stephanie with _all _of your heart yet? Does she really understand the power she has to break you emotionally, or that you're holding her at somewhat of an arm's distance in order to maintain control?"

"What the hell do _you_ know about _my _feelings?" I snapped, shrugging off her hand. "I _love _my wife! I'm crazy about her and our children."

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

"I believe you," I said calmly.

"Then why are you saying this shit?"

"Because I'm trying to help you see that you shut yourself off twenty-seven years ago, Joe. You made a pact with yourself that _no one_ was going to have power over you emotionally again. You played around and made damned sure no woman got too close—"

"Until Steph," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with possessiveness.

"That's right," I agreed quietly. "By marrying her, you gave her that power. But then, right away, you were faced with the paternity test and Stephanie's infidelity—a _huge _set-back to your trust."

"You have no idea how fucking hard it's been these past few years waiting for her to choose between me and Manoso." His voice was thick with bitterness.

_Perhaps not—but after last night I had an inkling._

Forcing myself to concentrate, I continued, "And then you were faced with Tony and Paul's mess, which began the whole process of bringing up your locked memories. Everything has been swirling like a funnel cloud in the sky, getting ready to touch down and shatter your protective shell."

"You make it sound like I've hidden everything from her, and that's a lie. I've shared _a lot_ with her!" he defended angrily. "In fact—a hell of a lot!"

"Yes, but you haven't told her about that pivotal moment in the helicopter when you realized you couldn't live without her, have you?"

"Why is that such a fucking big deal to you? It was _one _moment!"

"No! It was THE moment, Joe," I shot back. "THE moment when you let down that emotional wall you've built up through decades of self-preservation. Stephanie deserves to know about that moment. She has a responsibility to be there for you emotionally, but she _can't_ if you don't tell her everything."

I paused a moment before saying gently, "You expect everything from _her_, don't you?"

Joe turned his head and breathed deeply through his nose, trying to regain control.

"You piss me off sometimes, Cheryl."

I couldn't help it. A nervous giggle escaped in response to his blunt assessment.

"I'm sure I do," I managed to choke out. "I'm afraid I piss a lot of people off. But in this case, I'm also afraid I'm right."

"And what does reconciling with my mother have to do with any of this?"

"It's the first step in healing what started this whole cycle. After that, you can concentrate solely on Stephanie and your own family."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

_Don't listen to her. _

The child inside my body commanded my attention. _Think of what might happen if you confront your mother. Think of the pain you might feel. Think of—_

"Stephanie and I are doing just fine without all this psychic nonsense—but thanks," I said acerbically.

Nothing I said ever seemed to faze Cheryl. Her eyes bore into mine with unwavering intensity, as she reminded me, "Just remember—that psychic nonsense is what helped you get to the truth about your family in the first place."

The man in me knew she spoke the truth—about a lot of things. Cheryl's counsel _had _been a critical part of helping me bring to light what had been years of darkness. And as difficult as it was to admit, she was also right about Stephanie. I _was _keeping a part of myself from her out of fear she'd betray my trust again. _How had I not seen that? _I didn't want _anything _between us—especially not when we were about to enter the frightening world of parenthood together.

I needed to talk to Stephanie.

"Where is she?" I demanded, assuming my cop's face. One thing Cheryl and I had in common, thanks to our professions, was the ability to read body language, and _hers _was screaming avoidance.

"Who? Stephanie?" she evaded. "I told you, she ran an errand."

"What kind of errand? Was it to take care of the SUV?"

"No, your brother-in-law, father-in-law and some guy named Lenny are taking care of it."

That was the first piece of good news I'd heard in days.

"Was it to check on one of her friends? They were all pretty bad off last night."

"I'm not sure," Cheryl responded, looking away. _Another lie._

"Listen, I know my wife, and she wouldn't have just left you here alone if it weren't important. Is she at her mother's?"

"Maybe you should call and find out," Cheryl suggested nervously.

"And maybe _you _should cut the shit and just tell me before I _really _get pissed."

"I don't feel comfortable doing that."

_Huh? _"Doing _what_? Telling the truth?"

"Sharing my suspicions based upon a private conversation we had."

"A conversation about what?"

"About _private _things!" the psychiatrist retorted emphatically.

_What could Stephanie have possibly talked about with Cheryl that would be private? Could it have been about our relationship or about her pregnancy? Oh God, was something wrong with the babies? _

My resentment toward our houseguest grew.

_Why was the woman pushing at both of us so hard? Wasn't it bad enough she'd crawled into my head to try and convince me to forgive my family. Now she'd gone after Stephanie to—_

_FORGIVE!_

The word went off like a warning flare in my brain. To my dismay, I knew _exactly_ where my wife had gone.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

On the drive over, I'd thought of every reason why what I was about to do was a bad idea, but somehow Joe's vehicle had a mind of its own.

And there I was.

Taking a deep breath, I tapped lightly on the door.

"Go away, Amy!" a man's voice growled. "I don't need _you_ or any of the other nurses poking at me again so soon. How the hell's a man supposed to get better if he's never allowed to rest?"

The familiar voice hatched a million butterflies in my belly. I'd told Cheryl I wasn't afraid to be alone with him. _But was that true?_

Forcing myself to push the door open, I stepped into the room. Immediately, familiar brown eyes met mine in complete shock.

After several long, highly charged moments, I finally found my voice.

"Hello, Tony."


	14. Chapter 14

I do not own any of JE's characters.

I'm drowning in writer's block, people! I know that was my excuse last time, but it's really true. I write every day, and then delete half of what I do. This story has so many doggone parts to it that it's starting to overwhelm me. I shall march onward, but PLEASE don't be upset with me if the chapters aren't cranked out as quickly as I know we'd all like.

Julie and Kim, thank you seems so paltry after all the support you've offered through my walk in the desert of writer's block. Remember the day I almost quit? Your constant encouragement has literally been what's kept me going. I'm blessed to have you both as friends and cohorts.

And Jessica, a special note to you, my friend. Thanks for your patience!

It's been so long, you may want to go back and read the end of chapter 13. LOL

Okay, enough jabber. It's another long one, folks. Here we go...

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

**Stephanie's POV**

"Stephanie."

Tony's pale face left no doubt to his shock over my visit. Equally stunned, I couldn't believe how different my brother-in-law looked from when I'd last seen him in the back of Lil Conroy's house. _God, had it really only been two weeks? _It felt like another lifetime had passed since Mary Lou and I tangled with him minutes before he jumped foolishly into the swamp.

"Come in," he offered hopefully, making an effort to push himself up straighter in the bed. His voice sounded scratchy from disuse.

My entire body hummed with nervous energy—both from the intimidating ICU setting as well as seeing the man who'd assaulted me on more than one occasion. The sheer amount of tubes and monitors attached to him was mind-boggling, and unfortunately reminded me too much of my own recent hospital stay. I didn't know whether to step inside or run as fast as I could in the other direction.

Taking a tentative step further into the room, I asked, "Are you sure you're up to it? I can come back."

He motioned toward the chair next to his bed. "I'm fine—just surprised to see you."

No more surprised than I was._ Why the hell had I caved to Cheryl's insistence I confront Tony_? Being there was only serving to bring up the many mixed emotions I had toward the man—anger, disgust and a healthy bit of apprehension. Hovering next to the proffered chair, I surreptitiously placed a hand over my stomach to remind myself yet again my babies were no longer in danger.

Tony noticed my hesitation.

"It's safe to sit down," he said dryly.

That much was probably true given his appearance. It was obvious Tony had lost a considerable amount of weight. His rather doughy-looking skin, brought on by too much alcohol, hung in puffy folds around his face. At least the tone of his skin was a healthier shade of pink. Even more encouraging were his eyes. So like my husband's in shape and coloring, they no longer looked half-crazed.

Now that I was in his presence, I had no idea what to say to the man who'd proven a threat to me on four separate occasions in the past six weeks—once on my wedding day, twice in my kitchen as well as the incident at Lil's place. Oddly enough, instead of the fear I'd expected to have, I felt a rather strong sense of pity. Joe's oldest brother appeared as sick as he was—both physically and mentally. He looked worn down, beaten—

He looked old.

"Does Joey know you're here?"

Pushing the chair backward about three feet, I sat down and avoided his eyes.

"Not really."

Tony grunted. "Exactly what does 'not really' mean?"

"It means he doesn't know."

This time he let out a full snort. "Why do I have the feeling he won't be happy when he finds out?"

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

Joe's eyes were scorching hot.

"She went to see Tony, didn't she?"

My gaze shifted guiltily. _How should I answer? _I didn't want to lie, but telling the truth didn't sound all that appealing either, especially given how angry Joe was going to be once he heard it.

His voice took on a dangerous edge. "You _really _don't want to play games with me right now, Cheryl. Did you or did you not encourage Stephanie to see my brother?"

"Uh—" _Think, dummy!_

"Goddamn it!"

The curse burst from his mouth at the same time his arm flung out and knocked over a floor lamp.

"Who the hell do you think you are? You have no fucking idea what the situation is between Stephanie and Tony. How dare you send my wife off into some unknown, potentially volatile confrontation?"

"It's not what you think. Stephanie told me about some of what's transpired between her and Tony in recent weeks."

"When?" The one word sizzled with resentment.

"This morning while you were sleeping," I confessed, trying to remain calm—a difficult thing to do when I'd just awakened a sleeping bear.

"How convenient. While I'm sleeping, the counselor who's supposedly helping _me_ decides to play games with my wife's life instead. Tell me—do they teach you to troll for patients like that in medical school?"

"I wasn't butting in! During the course of our conversation, it became very clear Stephanie has a lot of unresolved feelings toward Tony. In my professional opinion—"

"Fuck your professional opinion! You barely know Stephanie—_or _me. Just because we've both shared personal things with you, doesn't give you the right to start telling us what to do—_especially _Stephanie. My wife is precariously pregnant. She doesn't need any additional stress—"

"Exactly!" I jumped in hastily. "Which is why hashing things out with Tony once and for all will help her to heal. She _wants _to heal, Joe, so she can be there for you_."_

His eyes flashed. "She already _is _there for me."

"Not the way that she wants to be. Partially, she can't be, because you aren't willing to share everything with her—"

"Jesus, will you friggin' shut up about my past? I'm sick to death of you poking around in my brain!"

"Fine," I quickly acquiesced. "I won't, but you have to understand that what's happening is about more than just you, Joe. Stephanie has her own issues—her own fears—her own pain."

Eyes narrowed, he growled, "Just what the hell did she _say _to you this morning?"

My face went purposefully blank. "You know I can't divulge private conversations."

"That _private _conversation was with _MY _wife!" His arms moved in big, wide gestures that demonstrated how deep his anger ran.

_Stay calm, Cheryl. _"I know it's frustrating, but it's also the rule. Stephanie can tell you anything she wants, but I can't. It's that simple."

"She's _not _your client!"

"No, but the same rules apply for friendship too."

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"How sweet. Did you have tea and biscuits while you fed her that load of crap too?" Not waiting for her reply, I shoved past the meddlesome psychiatrist. "This is bullshit."

Furious didn't even being to describe the burning anger inside of me. It didn't matter that Tony had already apologized to me or that he too had asked for me to bring Stephanie to him so he could apologize. All my mind could picture was my pregnant wife having to face down a man who'd caused her physical and emotional harm.

_Alone._

Cheryl grasped my arm to stop me. "Joe wait. Don't even _think_ of going down to the hospital."

Shrugging her hand away, I glared. "That's _exactly _what I'm going to do. You think I'm going to let Stephanie do this by herself? You're nuts!"

"But wait! Uh—you can't just leave me here alone," she pointed out lamely, trying to look appalled at the notion.

I wasn't stupid. Cheryl was no more frightened about the possibility of being left alone than a Ninja warrior would be. The woman had a world of grit and plenty of attitude to boot.

"I'm sure whatever goons Manoso has out there watching the place can more than handle the job."

She tried to smile reassuringly.

"Listen to me. Stephanie _has _to do this alone. It's important for her own self-confidence, and you know as well as I do she's perfectly safe with all those doctors and nurses around—not to mention the fact your brother is incapacitated at the moment."

"I don't care!"

Cheryl's fingers grabbed my hand and squeezed. "Don't do it, Morelli. You have your own demons and battles to face. This one is Stephanie's to fight."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

Tony's brown eyes studied me intently from beneath thick, dark eyelashes.

"What are you doing here, Steph? Where's Joey? When he was here on Thanksgiving, I asked him to bring you here."

_He had? _Joe hadn't mentioned that important little detail to me.

"Home sleeping after a double shift," I mumbled, feeling as though I'd missed an important step somewhere. "As for me—" I looked around the room uncomfortably. "I—um—I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by."

He snorted loudly. "Don't shit a shitter, Steph. It doesn't work."

The blunt observation only served to further my unease. More annoyed than nervous, I folded my fingers tightly around the strap of my bag to keep them from shaking. _What WAS I doing there? I didn't face problems. I ignored them. I ran as far away as possible from emotional difficulty, particularly family stuff. Why the hell had I listened to Cheryl? She didn't know Tony. Hell, she didn't know me! And why hadn't Joe told me Tony wanted to see me?_

The silence hung between us like humidity, threatening to choke us both as we grappled with what to say.

"You look good," I finally managed.

His reaction was pure Morelli—swift and sarcastic. "I look like death."

"Yeah, you do."

The comeback slipped out before I could stop my mouth, causing Tony to throw back his head and laugh. Despite his amusement, the sound was weak and hoarse, appropriate for a man who'd spent two weeks in a hospital bed after having nearly died. Remembering his near death had come in an attempt to save _my _life, some of my irritation subsided, allowing me to look at him directly for the first time.

"It's a wonder you have the strength to laugh," I observed. "After all you've been through—"

"It's either that or cry," Tony retorted self-deprecatingly. His expression turned grim. "And believe me, I've cried enough tears lately."

The admission floored me. I literally almost fell off my chair. A Morelli male had cried—apparently more than once—and was willing to own up to it? In my wildest dreams, I never would've pictured Tony Morelli in tears let alone _talking _about it. Was it possible the shooting had changed my brother-in-law's personality?

Speechless, I blurted the first thing that came to mind, "You scared the shit out of us all, Tony."

Truthfully, I remembered very little about that horrible day, but I _absolutely _could remember the terror I'd felt, especially the fuzzy bits and pieces of our harrowing helicopter ride to the hospital.

"So did you." His eyes filled with remorse. "I couldn't believe it when Paul and I found you chained to the wall of that trailer."

The mere mention of my own ordeal set my knee to bouncing, the heel of my boot tapping rhythmically on the cold, hard tile of the floor. Memories of the dark, dank, labyrinth of the swamp filled my mind, so much so that I could almost smell the putridness of it, and my stomach grew queasy.

Forcing aside the residual fear, I said, "Even though I was in and out of it, I do remember being terrified when I heard the doctor say you'd gone code blue."

"I shouldn't be alive." His words were clipped and to the point.

"No, you shouldn't."

It was hard to know what to think of _this_ Tony Morelli. The drunken, obnoxious jerk I'd always dealt with before had been replaced by a man who was not only sober, but also somber, regretful and well aware of how lucky he was to have cheated death. The contrast was more than unsettling. He was exactly as Joe had described after his visit with him on Thanksgiving, only I'd chosen not to believe my husband's impression. Now that proof was staring me in the face, it was hard not to believe.

Tony shifted on the bed, mindful of all the tubes and wires. "Knowing I should be dead right now has given me a lot to think about these past couple of weeks."

I didn't answer, because I didn't need to. We both knew how close we'd come to death at the hands of Bulldog. In all honesty, I was probably the only one who _could_ understand how Tony felt, considering I'd done my own fair share of soul-searching in the aftermath of the swamp.

Lifting one corner of his mouth wryly, he said, "So what really brings you here, gorgeous? Hoping to finish off what Bulldog started? God knows there are moments I wish someone would."

Before I could answer, he continued, "I wouldn't blame you. You and your babies were almost killed because of Paulie and me."

While the vindictive part of me wanted to agree, the other, more sensible part was the first to speak, "You didn't even know Bulldog was involved and dangerous. None of us did until it was too late."

The lines around Tony's mouth tightened. "But I think we can agree neither of us probably would've been in danger in the first place had Paul and I just gone to Joey once Stampler blackmailed him."

"Why _didn't_ you go to him?" I asked, leaning forward. "He's a cop for Christ's sake, Tony! With his resources, who knows how he could've helped. The whole tragedy might've been avoided."

His face was unreadable. "You don't understand. I've been the protector of my family for a long time."

"Too long, " I shot back, surprised by my vehemence. "Not many men would purposely set out to keep tabs on their thirty-five year old brother's girlfriend. Where the hell did you get off spying on me before I married Joe?"

* * *

**Joe's POV**

"_Don't do it, Morelli. You have your own demons and battles to face. This one is Stephanie's to fight."_

Cheryl's words buzzed in my ears.

"I don't want Stephanie to face _any _fight alone," I declared fiercely.

Cheryl smiled tentatively. "She feels the same way, Joe—trust me. But just like there are some ghosts you need to face alone, this is one _she _needs to face on her own."

Still fully dressed in the clothing I'd worn the day before, I reached for the hip clip that held my phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling her."

"No!" Cheryl made a grab for the phone but not before I snatched it out of her reach.

Exasperated, I glared at her. "What the hell is _wrong _with you? I want to make sure she's okay."

"No," she repeated firmly. "First off, you know cell phones aren't allowed in ICU. But more importantly, you have to believe me. Stephanie won't appreciate the interruption right now. It'll be hard enough as it is to confront Tony. She doesn't need any distraction."

"You don't know that."

"But you do. In your heart, you know I'm right."

"I don't know _anything _these days," I disagreed, running my hand through my disheveled bed head.

_God, had I prepared her enough for the changes in my brother the other night when we'd talked after my visit with him? Would she know how to handle the new Tony Morelli?_

Cheryl smiled sympathetically. "Stephanie's a big girl, Morelli. She'll handle your brother _just _fine."

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"_Where the hell did you get off spying on me before I married Joe?"_

Immediately, the pressure in my chest loosened. Cheryl was right. For someone who'd spent her entire life running from emotional confrontation, I _needed _this particular one more than I'd ever imagined.

"I asked you a question. What gave you the right to spy on me?"

Tony's expression tightened even further. "I told you. Protecting my family—and especially Joey—has always been my responsibility."

"Yes, but _Joey _isn't friggin' eight years old anymore!"

Tony flinched. I could tell he was trying to assess how much I knew about his family's past, particularly with the age I'd thrown at him. Right then, I wasn't thinking too much about the past. I was too creeped out knowing he'd watched me without my awareness.

"What'd you do—follow me around? Bug my phone? You're no worse than some of the FTA's I used to go after."

"I did what I had to do," he answered without shame. "Someone at work tipped me off he'd seen you in a lip lock with Manoso when he was passing by the bonds office one day. I figured it was up to me to find out if he was telling the truth, so yeah, I kept pretty close tabs on you."

"How long?"

Tony didn't even pretend to misunderstand. "More than a year—less than two."

Ever-present guilt threatened to overshadow my need for answers. Despite Joe's forgiveness, it still hurt to have my infidelity thrown in my face—especially by a seasoned philanderer like Tony Morelli.

"Why didn't you confront me before the wedding?"

Tony shook his head ruefully, like he'd asked himself the same question a million times.

"Because I knew how much my brother loved you. I kept hoping you'd change."

"I _have_ changed, you moron—unlike you!" That particular realization helped assuage the guilt.

"I fully intended to tell him about your escapades with Manoso when I got to Barbados. But Paul was so freaked out over the suitcase we had with us, and then I saw how goddamned happy Joey was—I didn't know _what _to do."

His matter-of-fact attitude pissed me off even further.

"So you did what any self-respecting brother would do, right? You made a pass at the bride immediately after the wedding ceremony, not to mention another one in her own home after the honeymoon!"

He shrugged. "I was upset with myself for not having told Joe the truth. I wanted to punish you for betraying him _and _find out if it you were going to just continue with Manoso or continue on."

"Continue on." My jaw set, knowing exactly what the jerk was about to say.

"That's right. My fear was you'd tire of him and cheapen yourself with even more men. I figured how you responded to me would be a good litmus test of the future." He paused to look at me earnestly. "Don't worry—you passed."

My heart beat wildly in my chest. _Did he honestly think I cared if I passed his self-designed, stupid ass test?_

"You friggin' hypocrite!" I exploded, leaping from my seat to pace the small area beside the bed. "You and Paul have both managed to screw anything with legs throughout your entire married lives, and you have the balls to question my integrity? Hell, Paul's inability to keep his pants zipped is what started this whole mess to begin with!"

"Stephanie—"

I stared at him icily. "And don't even get me started on what you've done to poor Angelina—_your_ wife_—_over the years. God, and your kids—what kind of example have you been for them?"

"You're right."

The barely discernable admission brought my tirade to a stumbling halt, but not enough to quell the fury still pumping through me.

"Of course I'm right. You're an idiot!" Despite my anger, my own conviction had me adding in a slightly more subdued tone, "We were both idiots."

"You're right about that too. I'll be lucky if Angelina even allows me to be a part of my kids' lives, let alone stay married to me for much longer."

The regret on his face was painful to look at, even though I knew no one had forced him to make the choices he had. The real problem was acknowledging how close I'd come to blowing a life with Joe by playing the same types of stupid games with Ranger. I was damned lucky my husband had loved me enough to forgive me.

The same way Angelina loved Tony.

"Has she been to see you?" I asked sullenly, dropping back down onto my chair.

"Every day, but it's not what you think. She comes out of some warped sense of duty rather than love." He rolled his eyes. "Morelli women are known for putting up with a lot of shit."

Now _there _was the God's truth if I'd ever heard it. Morelli women were both revered _and _ridiculed throughout the Burg for their willingness to endure wretched marriages. It was but one of the many reasons why I'd resisted marriage to Joe for so long.

"Did she _say _she was leaving you?" I hated the fact I was even curious.

Tony stared down at his hands, which were gripping the bed sheet tightly. "No. I told her she should leave me."

Once again the truth popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. "I sure as hell wouldn't blame her if she did, but I can't believe you'd ask that of her. You're not stupid enough to think you're going to get back together with Lil Conroy, are you? Because I can assure you she's _l-o-n-g _gone."

"Of course not! I've learned my lesson."

Seeing my doubtful expression, Tony dropped his head back against the pillow. His voice was sounding weaker and raspier by the minute. Without thought, I leaned over and pushed his water glass closer to him.

"Drink."

He was too focused on answering me to obey my order.

"I told Angelina to divorce me, because I'm physically and mentally sick. I've got nothing to offer her and the kids right now—no job—lousy health—and a mind that's flirting with clinical depression."

Our conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn. As a result, my feelings toward Tony were all over the map. It was clear the man huddled on the bed in front of me was _not _the same man who'd nearly brought harm upon me and my babies the day he'd come looking for the suitcase. And for some crazy reason, I felt like I needed to at least offer him a bone of hope.

"Angelina still loves you, you know."

Tony jerked his head in acknowledgement. "Like I said—Morelli women are known for their loyalty. But right now I'm nowhere near worthy of her faithfulness—too much ancient shit in my brain."

"We _all _have shit to deal with."

"Not like mine."

"True." My tone took on a sarcastic edge. "Watching your father die and wondering if you were the one to kill him would be hard on anyone. I _know _it was rough on Joe—both as a child _and _an adult—almost as rough as learning his entire family lied to him for twenty-seven years about what _really _happened that day in your mother's garage."

Tony's mouth fell open. "You know?"

My seesawing emotions landed with a thud on the side of frustration.

"Of _course_, I know, you colossal jackass. How could you possibly think Joe _wouldn't _tell me? I'm his wife!"

Accepting my glare, he held up a hand. "He never mentioned it to me when he was here on Thanksgiving."

"I didn't realize he needed your permission."

Tony rolled his eyes again. "Would you give it a rest, already? I'm not upset—just surprised. Until lately, opening up hasn't exactly been our family's style."

"Well, duh—that's pretty obvious, seeing as not one of you saw fit to open up to Joe at _any_ point in the last two decades with the truth."

"Don't judge us." Tony's jaw clenched much like Joe's did when he was trying to maintain control.

"It's pretty damned hard not to!"

"You weren't there!" he protested heatedly. "You have no concept of what it was like—before, during _or _afterward."

"I was there," I argued, grimly remembering the infamous game of 'choo choo'. "At least for the part that set your father off in the first place."

"You _weren't_ there," he repeated stubbornly. "So you can armchair quarterback as much as you'd like, but my family made what we believed was the right choice at the time."

It was obvious I wasn't getting anywhere. One minute Tony was remorseful and sincere and the next sullen and resentful. Once again, I was left wondering who the real Tony Morelli was anymore.

His voice turned pure Jersey. "I got no beef with the fact Joey told you about the past. That's his business. But don't _you _of all people start giving me hell about keeping secrets from my baby brother. There isn't a one of us Morellis that wouldn't do the same damn thing all over again if faced with the identical nightmare. I'd personally redo every hellish moment if it meant saving Joey. God, if you'd seen the way Rocco—"

His voice choked, and he shook his head firmly to dislodge the unwelcome memory, finishing almost inaudibly, "You weren't there, Stephanie. Don't judge me."

For some reason, Tony's passionate statement spoke to my soul, hitting home with just how horrific Rocco's death and the aftermath of it must've been. He was right. I couldn't judge what I didn't know, even if it angered me to no end knowing how much their choice had hurt my husband. His bizarre willingness to talk gave me the courage to ask yet another question that'd been eating at me.

"Tell me the truth, Tony—did you kill your father?"

He shrank backward as if Rocco's own fist had asked the question, and I wondered if my visit was becoming too much for his frail condition.

"I've been paying for that day for twenty-seven years," he murmured.

Trying not to feel even more sympathy, I hardened my voice. "That doesn't answer my question."

"No, it doesn't," he sighed wearily. Without flinching, his chocolate eyes met mine. "Like I told Joe, I didn't kill Rocco."

Perhaps the only good thing about my lying past was that I was able to read other liars really well. Tony wasn't lying. I knew it in my gut, and the realization deflated some of my anger and resentment.

"Sometimes I wish I had though," he continued morosely. "If it'd been a cut and dry murder, I'd have gone to prison, which would've been better for a whole lot of people."

The old Tony would never have allowed anyone—especially me—to see him in such a vulnerable position, which meant he _had _to be in some sort of depressive state. Growing even more uncomfortable, I strove to maintain the sarcastic bantering we all seemed to speak as a second language.

"Better for whom? Your mother certainly needed you; your siblings needed you. I think you're the biggest jerk in the world, and even _I _don't think you should've gone to prison."

"Not even after the harm I nearly caused you and your babies?"

He tossed the question out there between us like the loaded brick it was.

When I didn't answer, he pushed harder. "Come on Stephanie—after all the shit I pulled, you at least deserve an apology, don't you think?"

"I didn't realize you were capable of giving one," I tossed back, squirming in my chair. _Oh, how I hated emotional confrontation!_

"Well I am. I've already made my peace with Joey, but I'd like the chance to say it to you."

"Say what?"

"I'm sorry."

_Oh shit._

Unexpected tears sprung to my eyes at the two simple words, and I couldn't even blame them on hormones.

"I mean it," Tony continued earnestly. "Father Koerner says if I want any chance of moving forward with my life, I have to seek forgiveness from the ones I've hurt along the way, and you're near the top of the list."

I could barely find my voice. "Angelina—?"

"Is the pinnacle, but she's not ready to hear anything from me right now." His eyes continued to bore into mine. "I'm sorry for the pain I caused you. You're absolutely the right woman for Joey, and I'm praying like hell I haven't done anything to mess up your future because of my actions."

So deep in thought, I almost missed his next words, "So will you, Stephanie? Will you forgive me for the two passes I made at you; for causing you to collapse the day I came for the suitcase; for not trusting Joe with the truth about what was happening with Paul and me; for nearly getting you and your children killed at the hands of Bulldog—all of it."

At a loss, I allowed the first words to pop out of my mouth in dumbfounded amazement, "Who the hell _are _you? I don't even recognize you anymore."

"Me neither," he admitted dully, shaking his head. "But what I am is a fucked up, womanizing drunk, who's about to lose everything because of his stupidity."

He paused a moment to allow the power of his next words to hit home.

"I'm my father."

The raw pain in his voice touched my rapidly developing maternal hormones. At the same time, the conversation I had with Joe after he'd awakened from a dream regarding his brothers came back to me.

"_I've been dreaming a lot about my brothers the past several nights."_

"_What kind of dreams?"_

"_Mostly memories of my childhood. Images of Tony and Paul teaching me how to ride a bike, coming to ballgames, taking me to school, helping me with homework, telling me they'd take care of me after my father died—stuff like that."_

"_I didn't realize how involved they were in raising you."_

"_I've allowed myself to forget as well. I've been wrestling so much with my anger over what they've become in recent years, I haven't remembered all that they once meant to me—once did for me—I think maybe even once sacrificed for me."_

The truth hit me upside the head with a two by four. Beneath all of the wretched qualities my brother-in-law had mentioned still lay the man who'd always been there for my husband—even to the point of saving him from most certain death at the hands of his _real _father.

"No, _y__ou're _Joe's father," I corrected softly, uncomfortable with revealing so much emotion despite the certainty of my inner feelings. "He'd have been completely lost without you—Paulie to a certain extent as well, but most certainly you.

Tony's face simply crumbled before my eyes. His whole body began to convulse in silent tears, and I was at a total loss.

"I'm so fucked up, Stephanie," he gasped between sobs. "Look at me! I'm sorry I'm such a fucking mess. I've never cried in my life, and now I can't seem to stop." He continued to weep uncontrollably.

I couldn't help but feel sympathy toward him. Joe's brother needed help far beyond what his medical doctors could provide.

"Joe said you might have the opportunity to do rehab instead of jail time," I observed quietly.

I hadn't purposely meant to open that particular door of conversation. Yet, in my heart of hearts, I knew it was the _real_ reason why I'd come. For there was no way I could contemplate accepting Ranger's business proposal without first knowing how serious Tony was about getting better.

The man in question shrugged, swiping at his eyes. "It doesn't matter what I want. It ain't gonna happen. I'm up to my eyeballs in debt already from these hospital bills. There's no friggin' way—"

"If there were a way, would you want to go?" I pressed. "Are you serious about wanting to turn your life around?"

_Shut up, Stephanie! Seriously,_ _shut up before your mouth does something your mind doesn't want._

"Of course, I'm serious," he looked at me stupidly. "I'm not going to live much longer if I don't get help. All I want is to be there for my kids. I'm not even thinking about Angie. That's a closed door if I've ever seen one, but—"

"Look at me," I cut him off fiercely, demanding with my eyes that he meet my pointed glare.

"What?" His thick Jersey accent shone through again.

"Don't shit a shitter," I said, throwing his earlier words back at him. "Are you serious, Tony? Are you willing to do the work it'll take?"

Eyes locked with mine, he answered forcefully, "I'd do anything for my family, Stephanie. Haven't I proven that by now?"

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

The sun provided welcome warmth on my face, as I climbed out of my Escalade in the Morellis driveway a little after two o'clock. With temperatures flirting near fifty degrees, the snow from Thursday's snowstorm had already begun to diminish significantly.

That was Jersey for you—the weather was nearly as bipolar as half the Burg.

Seeing me, Lester rolled out of his vehicle and sauntered over. "Happy Thanksgiving," he drawled. "We missed you Thursday. Calculating the number of hairs on Aunt Bertalina's chin wasn't nearly as much fun without you."

"Twenty-two," I grunted, barely moving my lips. "Three more than last year."

Lester threw back his and laughed. "Goddamn it, you're right! How the hell are you always right?"

"Because I'm me." After holding his gaze with one of my enigmatic stares for several long moments, I finally relented, "Mama showed us pictures of all I missed during dinner last night."

My cousin's eyebrows rose shrewdly. "_Us_?"

_Damn it. _Another slip of the tongue. Rangeman business had prevented me from taking more than a two-hour power nap, and now my cousin would be able to take advantage of the fact.

Lester jerked his head slightly toward the Morelli's house. "Was Dr. Gorgeous with you?"

"No comment."

"What the hell's going on with her anyway?" His eyes studied me intently. "Why is she here? More importantly, why are _you _here? Hell, for that matter, why am _I _here?"

"Business."

The tone of my voice made it more than clear he wasn't getting another word out of me—a risky move on my part for sure. What I _hadn't _revealed would most certainly be considered, discussed and debated by all of my employees. Still, I wasn't prepared to give him anything else. In my sleep-deprived state, who knew what I might reveal regarding my salacious feelings toward Cheryl. Besides, having Tank on my back was bad enough. I didn't need Lester's bullshit too.

"Anything I should be aware of?"

He shrugged. "Bomber left a few hours ago—destination unknown. She's yet to return."

That caught me off guard. _Morelli let her go off without protection? _

My brain provided the unwelcome reminder.

_Not your worry, Carlos._

_Shit._

He continued, "Morelli is still in the house with the shrink. I heard shouting a while ago, but it's been quiet ever since."

_Shouting? _My protective instincts immediately went on alert.

"You didn't check on the situation?"

Sensing my disapproval, Lester stood a little straighter. "It was Morelli. I didn't think she'd need protection from a cop."

"Never assume," I responded coolly.

His eyes widened. "It never crossed my mind you wouldn't trust Morelli."

Really? It'd crossed my mind—a lot.

"What else?"

"A few neighbors out and about, but nothing unusual. No strange cars or people."

"I'll take care of things from here."

Lester wasn't easily dissuaded by my dismissive behavior. As a relative, he felt a freedom to push that my other employees, besides Tank, didn't have.

"Take care of _what _things?"

"Business things," I repeated, arching my brow.

"Jesus, you're even more ornery than usual." The corners of his mouth turned up in a smirk. "You should take a nap. You're not as young as you used to be, you know."

"You about done?"

The smirk turned into a full-on grin. "Maybe I should stay and see if Dr. Gorgeous will give me her phone number."

"Go. Home."

He snorted. "Call if you need me."

With a jaunty salute, he hopped back into his vehicle and headed down Slater, leaving me to stare at the Morelli's house. _What in the hell could the two of them been arguing about?_ Cheryl might've been the most pig-headed, feisty—downright pushy—woman I'd ever met, but Morelli was also one of the most hotheaded people I knew. It unnerved me that the two of them had a relationship of sorts, even if it was patient/client.

Tempted to pick the lock, I forced myself to knock instead. It was Morelli who opened the door, Glock in hand and hair still damp from the shower. He looked no more rested than I did and just about as surly.

"Don't shoot," I suggested dryly.

He pretended to consider it.

"It's tempting, but I'll pass—for now." Stepping back, he allowed me to pass into the entryway where Cheryl stood waiting with her hip cocked defiantly. She made a show of looking at her watch, but I could see the instant awareness of my presence in her eyes.

"I thought maybe you'd changed your mind."

"Oh, trust me, I have—repeatedly—but business is business."

Her voice chilled considerably as I knew it would. "I won't make the same mistake again."

Morelli watched our exchange with undisguised interest. He'd have to be blind not to see the sexual tension humming between us. Hell, I was about drowning in it.

"I've been wondering the same thing," he interjected. "What took you so long? I've been waiting to call someone to take me down to the precinct, because I didn't dare leave Cheryl."

I toyed with the idea of asking why he needed transportation when he had a perfectly good vehicle but then decided I really want to know nor did I care.

Instead, I said, "You could've left Lester with her, you know."

Morelli pretended to weigh his options. "Let's see prison reject…or…cop. Hmmmm."

_Jackass._

He finished with a grunt. "How about we cut the shit. What's the plan?"

This was the part I'd been dreading all day—having to relay my business to a cop, particularly _Stephanie's _cop.

"I've made arrangements for Dr. Sullivan and I to stay at a place near Princeton until your people finally manage to figure out who's harassing her." _There—to the point and slightly insulting._

_Perfect._

"_Dr. Sullivan _is right here, you know," Cheryl piped up testily. "And I could've stayed by myself, as you well know."

We both ignored her, and Morelli frowned. "What place in Princeton?"

"Does it matter as long as I keep her safe?"

"Of course it matters. I'll want it checked out." He quickly pulled his phone from his hip holster.

"No," I said firmly. "No cops. No runs on the property—nothing. You want our cooperation; you do it my way."

"To hell with that! She's a direct link to a murder investigation—"

"I don't care. Her safety comes first. I made a vow to her father, and she—"

"_SHE _is _STILL _right here and getting ready to walk out the door and say to hell with you both!"

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"How many times you want me to say it, Mom? I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Whipping Joe's truck onto Slater, I sighed with relief at the sight of our house. I was physically and mentally drained from my visit with Tony, and now to make matters worse, my mother had called on the way home, wasting no time in picking up on her tirade from the night before.

"You _should _be sorry. A grown woman like yourself—precariously pregnant with twins—running around in a drunken free-for-all chasing cattle. It's obscene!"

I was used to my mother's disapproval, but this was different. She wasn't just annoyed with me. She was furious.

"_I _wasn't drunk," I defended weakly. Unfortunately, the free-for-all couldn't be as easily disputed.

"Hunh—you'd _better_ start taking that pregnancy of yours seriously, before you do something to jeopardize the health of your children _and _your marriage."

Her disparaging words chafed my pride _and _my conscience.

"My marriage is fine, Mom. _Better _then fine." Or it would be as soon as we got past all of the craziness in our lives. "And the babies are fine too."

"Well then—FINE!" she huffed mockingly.

Hoping to change the subject, I asked, "So you're sure I can't give you some money toward Grandma's new dentures?"

Another harrumph. "I told you the dentist thought she could get insurance to cover most of the cost."

"Still, I'd be happy to—"

"You've done enough already, thank you very much," she interrupted frostily. "Just be thankful it'll be same day service when we _do _go."

"Want me to drive her over to Langhorne for the appointment?"

"No, I want you to stay _far, far _away from your grandmother."

"Come on, Mom!"

Enough was enough. _How long was she going to play the freeze game with me?_ Noticing Ranger's car parked by the curb, I quickly drove past the house. I wasn't about to finish this particular conversation with _three _sets of curious ears.

"Right now she's still sound asleep. We'll have to wait until Monday to go—much to your father's delight, I'm sure," she finished sarcastically.

"Is there _anything _I can do make this up to you?"

I truly hadn't felt this badly about anything associated with my mother since the embarrassment I'd caused my family after Joe had posted his obnoxious poetry about me around the Burg seventeen years ago.

"Oh, you'll be making this up to me," she returned grimly. "At your wedding reception on Saturday, December twenty-second." She rushed ahead before I could protest. "And that isn't a request. You and Joseph _will _be there, along with three hundred of your closest friends and relatives."

"Moooommm!" I sounded suspiciously like one of Val's girls. "Joe and I already _had_ a wedding reception with all of the people who are most important to us. Neither one of us wants or needs to—"

"What about what _I _want!" she asked angrily. "As happy as I was for you in Barbados, you denied me the chance of planning your special day."

"You should be thanking me. We would've killed each other!"

"Still—you owe me, Stephanie Michelle."

"_Owe_ you?" That took me aback. I'd never heard my mother speak so harshly toward me before.

"You're darned right—for every sleepless night, every gray hair on my head, every moment I've worried about you the past three years—"

"I'm hardly responsible for _every _gray hair on your head. Valerie—"

"Will pay the piper for last night's stunt too, trust me. But _your _payback is this reception. You and Joseph owe Angela and me the chance to celebrate with our family and friends, and that's exactly what we're going to do on Saturday, December twenty-second."

Her staunch conviction left me momentarily speechless, as I continued driving around the block.

Taking advantage of my silence, she went on in a slightly less threatening tone, "We've already reserved a hall, arranged for a DJ, sent the invitations—"

That last item sent me over the edge.

"_Sent _the invitations! Shit, Mom—"

"Don't swear!" she commanded sharply, "And stop whining."

"I'm _not_ whining."

_Of course I was whining!_

"And you're not getting out of this either. Now, since you obviously can't wear your wedding dress, you need to find something suitable to wear for a Christmas reception. Do you want me to go with you?"

Despite her snarky attitude, her last question sounded hopeful—almost as if she wanted me to say yes. That's when it hit me my mother really _was _feeling cheated.

Sighing loudly, I capitulated, "All right, let me talk with Joe—"

"Oh no you don't—there's no talking to be done," she insisted. "You two _will _show up on December twenty-second, or you'll never get another home cooked meal from me again, _including _pineapple upside down cake!"

"Mom, really—"

"And if you think I'm joking—" The threat dangled between us.

The thought of never having to endure another crazy meal at my parent's house was oddly tempting, until I remembered the cake. I'd _never _survive pregnancy without my mother's cake!

Our house came into view again, and this time I turned into the driveway, slamming on the brakes.

"Fine. We'll be there," I fairly snarled.

"Yes, you will," she agreed smugly. "And now I have to go check on Jessica. She can't be trusted alone for long."

"Tell her Joe and I will take her to get her stuff tomorrow."

"That sounds fine dear." _So now I was back to being her 'dear'? _My mother's tone was perfectly pleasant. "Be sure to get plenty of rest and take your iron pills. I want the very best for you and those grandbabies of mine, you know."

"Of course you do," I grumbled sardonically. "Later."

Disconnecting, I looked anxiously out the windshield at our house. My mother may've been angry, but I had a sinking feeling her anger was nothing compared to what Joe's would be once he found out I'd gone to see Tony without him.

* * *

**Joe's POV**

I was about ready to blow my top with _both _Manoso and Cheryl when the squeal of tires braked to a halt out front. I'd recognize my wife's less-than-stellar driving anywhere. Before I could even reach the door, she had it open, nearly knocking me over with the force of her entry.

"Hey," she greeted breathlessly, giving our guests no more than a cursory glance. Beneath the flush on her cheeks, she looked pale and weary.

"Are you all right?" I demanded in a low voice. No way in hell could I have kept the worry out of my voice.

Her return smile was faker than Joyce Barnhardt's boobs.

"I'm fine," she said breezily. "Surprised to see you up though. Did you get some sleep? You still look exhausted."

Helping her out of her coat, my lips grazed her ear. "And you look like you've seen a ghost. Did he upset you?"

Stephanie's eyes immediately cut angrily toward Cheryl, who held up her hands in mock defense. Meanwhile, we all ignored Ranger's curious interest.

"Cheryl didn't say anything," I explained gruffly.

"I promise I didn't," Cheryl vowed, "Not until—"

"I figured it out myself," I jumped back in. "Now, tell me, did he upset you?"

To her credit, Stephanie didn't even pretend to misunderstand. Rolling her eyes, she announced, "I'd call it a draw. I upset him too."

One expression, one smart remark, and my whole body finally relaxed.

She was okay.

_God, how many times had I gone through the exact same emotions with her in the past three years? The past two weeks? Hell, the past twenty-four hours?_

Barbaric as it was, I was a man—a man who needed to protect his woman. I wanted nothing more than to take her upstairs to the bedroom where I could make certain she was okay. I wanted to process her visit with Tony alone. Unfortunately, I was also well aware of the urgency we all felt toward securing Cheryl's safety.

Stephanie pushed past me and swiveled her head between Ranger and Cheryl, who stood scowling at one another.

"What's going on here?"

At her question, they broke eye contact, and Ranger shifted to face my wife.

"Just laying out the plan," he responded in his typically enigmatic way.

He offered a small, sincere smile, but there was none of the usual smarminess behind it. In fact, he seemed rather distracted—almost uncomfortable in the presence of both women at the same time.

Interesting.

The cop in me filed away that little tidbit to think about later on.

"So what _is _the plan?" Stephanie questioned. She motioned for us to follow her into the kitchen where she picked up a banana off the counter, peeled the top and took a savage bite.

Not only was she tired but ravenous too.

I spoke first. "Manoso has it in his head he's taking Cheryl to some kind of safe house outside of Princeton. Before you walked in, I was telling him I needed the specifics in order to clear it through the precinct—"

"And _I _was telling your husband his interference is neither needed or appreciated." A muscle near Manoso's right eye twitched.

"And _I _was telling _BOTH _of these arrogant jerks I'm not some piece of friggin' property to fight over. I expect to be included in the planning process."

Ranger shook his head. "No."

Cheryl tossed her head. "Well, you're crazy if you think I'm going to follow you blindly."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

Enough was enough. My patience had reached its limit with people questioning my authority.

"That's _exactly _what you're going to do," I spoke firmly. "Make a list of whatever you want from your place, and I'll head over there now to get it. We'll leave as soon as I return."

Cheryl's eyebrows jumped. "You really _are _crazy," she murmured in awe. "I'm not letting you paw your way through my private things."

"Then you'll wear what you have in your suitcase now or go naked, because I'm not about to take you back to an unsecured apartment."

Stephanie spoke up. "Cheryl's right, Ranger. You can't expect her to be okay with letting you go through her personal things. No woman wants a man looking through her underwear drawer."

An awful moment of silence fell between us as all four of us realized how her comment had sounded. Stephanie _had _allowed both Morelli and me to figuratively look through her underwear drawer.

_Frequently._

She flushed in embarrassment. "I—I'll go over there for you, Cheryl."

Morelli's eyes went dark with possessiveness. "The hell you will! Look at you. You're exhausted."

Noting his mood, Cheryl quickly intervened. "That's kind of you, Stephanie, but you're tired."

Stephanie immediately protested, which I knew she'd do. She automatically resisted _any one _telling her what to do.

"I'm fine!"

"They're right, Eliza," I said gently, earning a glare from both Morelli and Cheryl. _Well, too damned bad. "_You and the babies need to rest."

Cheryl lifted her chin. "Besides, I'm not even certain if I'm going with Ranger yet. I refuse to go to some unknown location without—"

"Cheryl's right," Morelli cut in. "Which is why I need the address—"

"For God's sake! There is no fucking address, okay?" I roared impatiently.

Morelli wasn't about to back down.

"Where'd you find the place then?"

"I've used it before."

He threw up his hands in one of his typical Italian rants. "Don't be stupid, Manoso. You _know_ I need _something_, so you might as well spill it. I can't let an integral piece of my investigation just disappear into the wind with you."

Cheryl made matters worse by blurting, "I want Joe and Stephanie to come with us."

_Shit._

"No!"

"I mean it," she insisted. "If I go there with you, I want them to come too."

Morelli shook his head. "We're not staying there—"

She shook her head. "Not to stay. Just to check it out, so you know where I am, how to find me, communicate with me, etcetera."

That wasn't part of my plan and for a good reason.

Without thinking of how it sounded, I said, "Listen, Zoomie, this place is _not _for public knowledge. Only a few of my people are aware of it, and I—"

"Either Joe and Stephanie come see the place, or our deal is off—danger or no danger," Cheryl cut in staunchly. She met my gaze with steely-eyed determination. "And I'm not playing games, Ranger. I'll call my father and break the deal myself."

"It works for me," Morelli agreed, acutely aware of the underlying current between Cheryl and me. He reached for his coat hanging on a peg on the kitchen wall. "I'll follow you over—"

"_We'll _follow you over," Stephanie corrected. Tossing the banana peel into the garbage, she put her hands on her hips. "I believe I was invited too."

To his credit, Morelli took two seconds to reign in his tempter. Still, his voice was tight with well-placed worry when he said, "Cupcake, you're tired, and you've already had a stressful morning—"

"I'm _fine_," she interrupted determinedly. "I'll sleep in the car on the way over."

Now Cheryl intervened out of concern. "Stephanie, if it's too much—"

"Everyone stop treating me like a child," she snapped crossly, sounding exactly _like_ a kid. "I'm pregnant—not an invalid. Anyway, I'd like to see where you're going to be staying too."

And that was the crux of my own dilemma. I didn't_ want_ Stephanie to see where we were going.

"Then it's settled," Cheryl nodded, not even bothering to spare me a glance. "Let me just go get my things upstairs. I'll make a list on my phone on the way to my apartment. It shouldn't take me long there."

"I'll use the bathroom while you're getting ready," Stephanie said, hustling up the stairs after her.

Morelli eyed me suspiciously. "This place had better be on the up and up, Manoso—"

"Don't threaten me," I warned. "You may be in charge of a homicide investigation, but _I'm _in charge of Cheryl's safety. You get in the way of that, and I'll—"

"So now you're threatening me?"

Blood pounded in my temples. "Just stay out of my way."

Morelli didn't appear fazed in the least. "No can do. Whether you like it or not, we're in this thing together now. You need me as much as I need you, so you might as well cut the Superhero bullshit and cooperate with me. It's in Cheryl's best interest if you do."

I didn't need him telling me what was best for Cheryl. _I _was best for Cheryl—on multiple levels. But Morelli was right about one thing. We did need to work together. Nothing was more important to me than the psychiatrist's wellbeing, and if that meant I had to endure some uncomfortable moments with the Morellis, then so be it.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"I don't care if Rogers wants an update, Sherry. I can't right now," Joe growled into his cell phone. "Tell him I'll call when I know something definitive from forensics."

Whatever Chief Rogers secretary said in response caused my husband to scowl even further.

"I know my job, and right now it doesn't involve politics. Tell Rogers to fight for his own job and get his nose out of mine." He listened some more and scowled deeper before muttering, "Whatever. I got to go."

Tossing his phone into a cup holder, he swore under his breath. "Goddamned political games. What a bunch of shit."

I took a deep breath. "So...I know you're pissed at Rogers, but how mad are you at me?"

Joe glanced over to where I sat slumped in the passenger seat of his Avalanche. After having briefly stopped at Cheryl's apartment, we were following Ranger's vehicle on US 1 headed toward Princeton. It was our first extended moment alone, and I was anxious as heck about how my husband was going to react to my visit with his brother, as well as once again being forced into a working relationship with Ranger.

His mouth twisted wryly. "I'm not sure yet."

_Sigh._

"Why didn't you tell me you were going to see Tony?" The words were spoken civilly but his frustration was more than obvious.

"It was a spur of the moment decision," I explained, tapping my fingers nervously on the console. "I was talking to Cheryl, and—"

"I'm beginning to think talking to her isn't such a good idea—for either of us."

Twisting in my seat, I faced him fully. "Why not?"

His mouth firmed. "It's too messy—too much a conflict of interest for her. She's intimately involved in one of my cases, and now she's trying to not only help me but offer you advice as well. I don't like it."

"Hunh." The derisive snort escaped before I could stop it.

Joe was affronted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Equally annoyed, I shrugged one shoulder. "It means 'hunh'."

"Stephanie, I'm not in the mood for guessing games."

"Fine," I blurted. "Cheryl can't help it if she's been targeted by some whack job that apparently likes to relieve women of their vital organs. And while I may not have liked it at the time, she gave me excellent advice today. It felt good to clear the air with Tony. Plus—" I paused to catch my breath.

"You mean there's more?"

Ignoring his sarcasm, I added, "Plus—you haven't seemed all that interested in talking with her since the swamp anyway. You've been avoiding her like the plague."

"I've been a little busy—"

"No, you've been avoiding her. The question is why?"

* * *

**Joe's POV**

_Pride and Embarrassment._

Cheryl's words about my humiliation over having broken down on that damned helicopter ride popped into my head, as did her warning:

"_Stephanie deserves to know about that moment. She has a responsibility to be there for you emotionally, but she can't if you don't tell her everything."_

_Should I tell her right then what had been going on in my head and heart since the swamp? _

I changed the subject instead.

"What happened with Tony?"

"You're avoiding my question," she accused exasperatedly.

I reached across the console to take her hand.

"I'm _not _trying to be unreasonable, Steph. But I have to focus on this case and Cheryl's safety—neither of which is more important to me than you and the babies. That's why I _need _to know what happened with Tony. Are you sure you're okay?"

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

It wasn't often Joe got frazzled, but that's exactly how he sounded—like he was at his wit's end after weeks of uncertainty. My heart softened, and I gave his fingers a gentle squeeze.

"I'm fine—really. It was a good conversation."

"What'd you talk about?"

"A number of things—his health, my health, the babies health. He showed a lot of remorse over all he'd done to me," I paused to swallow my bitterness, "_including _spying on me for almost two years."

That caught Joe's attention. "I hope you gave him hell, because I didn't give him nearly enough of it when he and I talked on Thanksgiving."

"Babies or no babies—if he hadn't been bedridden, I probably would've kicked his ass."

"And it would've been totally deserved. I swear if I'd known when it was happening at the time, I would've kicked it for you."

"He seems to be doing a pretty good job of kicking it himself these days—at least verbally," I admitted reluctantly. "He's an emotional mess."

"I know." There was a world of sentiment in those two simple words. "And I don't know what to do about it."

"Do you think he'd take rehab seriously?"

Joe shrugged. "Who knows? What was your impression?"

An image of Tony mourning the apparent loss of his marriage came to mind.

"He believes he's lost Angelina, although I personally have my doubts about that. I think he'd do anything at this point not to lose the kids."

"Rehab is out of the question. He's broke."

"But you're not."

"I'm not sure giving him the rest of Mrs. Comensoli's reward money is the right thing to do."

"But he's your brother!" Recalling my words to Tony, I continued, "Actually, he's the father you needed as a kid. You owe him so much, Joe. I don't see how you _can't_ give him the money?"

Joe's hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. "This is Tony we're talking about. For as many good things as that idiot did for me when I was a kid, he did twice as many stupid things. He and Paul can't be trusted."

"You're right."

"I _know _I'm right. Besides, we still haven't heard from Manoso about the deal he's got cooked up."

Knowing how angry Joe had been when he found out Ranger had approached me about buying Vinnie out without talking to him first; I was surprised to hear he still wanted to meet with him. And following the previous night's drama over at Cheryl's apartment, I'd expected him to be even more adamant we ignore my former mentor. Not that it really mattered if we talked with him or not anymore. _I'd_ already made my own decision.

"I'm telling Ranger to forget about buying out Vinnie."

Joe frowned. "Why?"

"Because in a few months I'm going to give birth to _two _babies," I answered resignedly, ashamed I still felt some lingering resentment toward the two precious lives growing inside of me.

_How could I already love our children so much, and yet be so offended by the sacrifice I was going to have to make?_

Hearing the sigh that accompanied my words, Joe released my hand to slide his fingers up my thigh and cup my slightly swollen abdomen.

"I'm well aware of your pregnancy, Cupcake. Besides you, it's one of the few good things keeping me going right now, but we've been through this all before. I don't expect you to stay home."

"Maybe not, but I keep thinking about how much daycare will cost for two infants." My voice sounded shrill. "And what if the babies hate it? What if they grow up to be twin ax murderers because their mother was too selfish to stay home and provide them with a proper upbringing?"

I was working myself up into a full-blown panic, complete with the now ever-close-to-the-surface, hormonal tears. But instead of being concerned, Joe appeared frustrated.

"Jesus, where the hell do you come up with this stuff, Stephanie? Cosmo?"

_More like Dr. Phil, but I wasn't about to tell my husband that. He'd think I was even crazier than he already did. _

"I'm serious," I sniffled. "And there's too much shit with our own families right now anyway. I can't take on a major venture like managing the bonds agency."

"Don't sell yourself short. I hate when you do that. You're smart and amazingly resourceful. You can to anything you put your mind to."

_Why the hell was he pushing so hard to meet with Ranger?_

"You don't even like Ranger? Why are you so insistent we talk to him?"

"Because it's important to you," Joe retorted, as if I were dense. He added grimly, "Besides, I want to know what he's scheming."

Red flags went up all over the place.

"Who wants to know—the cop or my husband?"

"Both."

Great. It was pretty obvious Joe wasn't completely over my past indiscretions, although I couldn't really blame him. But now I'd have to worry about whether or not he was trying to seek revenge on Ranger through this business venture?

Folding my arms across my chest, I said, "I'm not even sure I want to talk to him anymore. Everything's gotten all messy."

"How do you figure that?"

"Isn't it obvious? Ranger's protecting Cheryl, who in a way is emotionally supposed to be protecting you. It's sticky."

"Are you jealous of Cheryl?"

"No. Why would I be?" _Shoot, now I even sounded defensive._

"You said it yourself last night. Those two have some sort of weird chemistry going on, and it wasn't all that long ago the two of _you _had something going on—"

_Jerk. _"Don't start, Morelli—"

"I'm not starting anything," he returned calmly, "and I'd like an answer to the question. Are you jealous of the fact that Ranger seems interested in Cheryl?"

"No!" I retorted with _way_ more harshness than I'd intended. _I wasn't jealous—was I? _"Ranger and I are finished. I thought you believed that."

"I believe _you're _finished," he argued, "but you'll have a hard time convincing me Ranger is—especially not after all we recently went through with him. You conveniently forget he's in love with you—"

"_Was _in love with me," I corrected. "I honestly don't think he is anymore—not after seeing him with Cheryl."

"True," he admitted snidely. "He does seem to have transferred his feelings pretty quickly over to Cheryl. Does that mean his love for you didn't run all that deep after all?"

_Good question._

Not waiting for my answer, he said, "So again I ask. Are you sure you're not jealous?"

"For the last time, no!"

I wasn't—at least not in the way Joe was referring. But if I were truthful, I'd admit it rubbed me the wrong way with how quickly Ranger had glommed onto another woman after he'd supposedly been in love with me. Something wasn't setting right with me about the whole safe house situation either. I just couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was.

"I _am _however curious about this safe house," I admitted aloud. Shifting in my seat, I studied Joe warily. "Who do you suppose he's borrowing it from?"

My husband shrugged in disgust before flipping on his turn signal to follow Ranger off of US 1. "How the hell should I know? Could be most anyone—a former cellmate, some mob boss client of his, a—"

"You're not funny."

Joe rolled his eyes. "I wasn't trying to be, but the truth is anyone's guess."

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"How much further?"

"Not long."

Cheryl let out a disgusted snort but refused to say more. In fact, her question had been the first time she'd acknowledged my existence since leaving Trenton. At her apartment, she'd been all business while gathering clothing and personal affects for her stay in the safe house. Afterward, she'd wanted to ride with the Morellis, but Morelli himself had made it clear he wanted to talk with his wife—alone. I had no idea what was going on between the two of them, but I suspected it had something to do with Cheryl, and _that_ bothered me more than I cared to admit.

"Five minutes," I added, hoping to get her talking more. It was going to be pure hell being locked away with her if we didn't start communicating soon, even if it was to argue.

"What about the house? How big is it? Who will be there? How long do you think we'll have to stay? How will I communicate with my boss about work?"

"You'll see the place for yourself in a few minutes."

Talking wasn't my strong suit to begin with, and Cheryl was whipping out questions faster than Lula could inhale donuts. The sudden thought of my protégée caused me to frown. I was right in the middle of training her. _What the hell was she going to do in my indeterminable absence? _

I made a mental note to call Tank that night.

"What about the rest of my questions?" she pressed.

"We'll be there until your stalker is captured. As for your boss, forget it. You can't talk with him."

Cheryl tensed beside me. "I have to be able to communicate with Evan. My job—"

"Goes on hold as of today."

Rather than snapping back at me, she responded carefully, "I have to work, Ranger. We're a small practice. I can't leave Evan to deal with everything on his own."

I actually felt sorry for her. The reality of what she was being asked to give up was finally beginning to sink in.

"It can't be helped," I explained, softening my voice. Waiting until she looked over at me, I added, "You have to trust me, Zoomie. You can't be counseling clients."

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

He was right, and there was no point in causing a stink about it.

_Show him you're a professional, Cheryl._

"All right, I won't counsel," I agreed reluctantly. "But talking with Evan is nonnegotiable. He's going to need my input and feedback in order to handle all of this. By the way, I want my phone back."

"No problem."

That stopped me cold, as I'd expected him to refuse.

"We need you to use the phone in case the guy stalking you calls back," he explained. "Obviously, it's been modified to allow for more sophisticated GPS tracking, plus a phone tap, but otherwise it functions exactly the same."

I frowned. "Does this mean you're going to listen in on all of my phone calls?"

"My men will, yes." He heard the distress in my voice. Using my own words, he said, "That's nonnegotiable. We need to do everything we can to protect you, including monitoring your phone calls."

"Confidentiality—"

"Will be maintained as much as possible. My men are trained to mind their own business and ignore much of what they see and hear. You have my word."

"What else do I have your word on?"

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

"Meaning?"

_Why did I suddenly feel as though I'd been asked to walk through a minefield?_

"Let's start with answering the last of my questions. Who else will be staying with us?"

"No one."

I risked a glance at her and nearly laughed at the dumbfounded look on her face. The closer we got to Princeton, the more I could feel myself relaxing. My annoyance over Cheryl's rejection and blatantly stubborn attitude was overshadowed by the anticipation of spending time alone with her. I wanted nothing more than to explore this infernal chemistry between us—with or without her enthusiasm.

"You're joking," she responded, sounding mildly panicked. "Tell me you're joking."

"You'll soon learn I never joke."

_Truer words couldn't have been spoken._

Cheryl blanched. "I'm not staying anywhere alone with you—stalker or no stalker."

I went on as if she hadn't spoken. "My housekeeper Ella will stop in each day to provide food and necessary housekeeping. Other than that, it's for your safety to keep visitors at a minimum."

"Ranger—"

"Carlos," I responded smoothly, hoping to confuse her even more. It was to my advantage to keep the psychiatrist rattled and off kilter. "Last night you spoke my name beautifully, _Cherylyn_. I loved hearing it come from your lips—right before I kissed you."

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

My breath caught in my throat. _What the hell was Ranger up to now? _He knew I was furious with him about the way he'd manipulated me the night before with his kiss, yet the way his dark eyes cut away from the road to capture mine in a brief but heated gaze caused my heart to stereotypically leap out of my chest.

"We need ground rules," I managed to mutter, wrapping my arms around my waist in self-protection.

One corner of his mouth went up. "I live for rules."

"Rule number one: you are _not _to enter my bedroom at any time."

His smirk became a full-blown smile. "Such a strict one right off the bat. I'm crushed—"

"Rule number two," I quickly interrupted, my hands beginning to sweat. "You are _not_ to get into my business when it comes to my profession."

"Which profession?"

That caused me to pause. "What do you mean?"

"Shrink stuff or writing stuff?"

I felt my face flushing. "The writing isn't for professional purposes." _Yet._

"Still, it's important to you."

"How do you know?" I asked suspiciously.

The corners of Ranger's mouth lifted. "The night I drove you home from The Pokey you told me you were doing research for a book. Anyone willing to endure that hellhole has to be serious about wanting to succeed. Are you close to finishing it?"

I didn't know whether to answer or not. Few people knew about the psychological thriller I was attempting to write. As much as I loved interacting professionally with people, my real dream was to write professionally.

Clearing my throat, I responded, "I haven't had much time to write since coming to Trenton."

"So here's your chance." His seemingly sincere comment raised my suspicion even more.

Scowling at the contradiction of my emotions, I continued, "Rule number three: this is a business agreement. We are not friends."

"We sure as hell aren't," he agreed with another smirk.

"Now what's _that _supposed to mean?" I demanded, even more confused.

All the while we'd been bantering, Ranger had been smoothly taking us through Princeton and on to the outskirts of the city. It was difficult to tell where exactly we were, although it seemed to be the middle of nowhere as far as I could tell. But wherever we were, even with the residual snow, the view of the countryside was breathtaking.

His voice lowered to molten heat, nearly melting my underwear with its sexiness.

"I feel many things for you, Zoomie—frustration, agitation, anger and a palpable lust that's about to consume me. But, trust me, I definitely don't feel friendship toward you."

The declaration both annoyed and thrilled me.

_Stop it, Cheryl! You're furious with him, remember?_

Without warning, Ranger turned onto a dirt road—well, if you could call it a road. It was really more of a two-track into the brush.

"Hope Morelli's four-wheel drive is working."

I whipped my head around in time to see Joe and Stephanie make the turn behind us.

"Where are we?" I forgot all about the ground rules. I was more worried about getting lost in the middle of nowhere. _Would my cell phone even work?_

"Patience," Ranger murmured. "We're almost there.

The two-track wound further back into the woods. Though the deciduous trees had already lost their leaves, hundreds of thick pine trees blocked my view of of what appeared to be more brush and more trees. I was seriously terrified we were going to run into something—like a moose. Suddenly, out of nowhere, we drove into a clearing, and my mouth dropped. A fifteen-foot brick wall went off in either direction, and in front of us was a massive gate. It wasn't even one made of bars. This one was solid steel and looked as though it could keep out an army.

* * *

**Stephanie's POV**

"What in the heck—?" My voice dropped off, as I craned my neck to see out the front window. "What is this place?"

Joe didn't answer. He was in complete cop mode, memorizing his surroundings and taking in every minute detail of whoever's place it was.

Ahead of us, Ranger reached into an ivy-covered post and did something. Moments later the immense gate began to slowly draw backward to facilitate our entrance.

"Keypad," Joe muttered. "Not exactly an original hiding place, but it works."

Once past the gate, the road became a cement driveway—one that continued up a rather intimidating hill completely obscured by trees.

"That sure would make a hell of a sledding run," I observed in a hushed voice. The scene seemed to invite whispers, secrets and mysteries.

Joe maneuvered the Avalanche slowly behind Ranger.

"Surveillance cameras," he said shortly, pointing to several trees. "There were some back on the wall as well."

"It's like friggin' Fort Knox," I breathed.

Grunting noncommittally, Joe finally reached the top of the hill. This time we were both shocked, for in front of us stood the most amazingly beautiful home either of us had ever seen. The house was large and made out of gorgeous, red cedar logs and numerous, wide expanses of glass. Contemporary yet classically designed, it featured a soaring, two-storied entryway, which was already well lit. The lights were on inside the house as well. _Was someone already there?_

The itch that'd been bugging my brain since learning Ranger wanted to put Cheryl in a safe house was reaching poison ivy level. Something was definitely going on with my former mentor, and I was afraid I wasn't going to like the answer.

* * *

**Cheryl's POV**

"It's gorgeous," I finally managed to stammer.

Not bothering to acknowledge the compliment, Ranger jerked his head toward the house. "Let's go."

Gone was the congenial, almost flirtatious man from the car ride. Instead, his protective shell was firmly back in place. And seeing how his body tensed when Joe climbed out of his vehicle, I had a good feeling I knew why. For whatever reason, Ranger didn't want Joe and Stephanie there, and I didn't think it had anything to do with Joe's case or my protection. It had to do with the house itself. _But why?_

* * *

**Ranger's POV**

The four of us met up at the foot of the stone steps leading to the front door. Not waiting for any questions, I moved to a keypad beside the house, held up my palm print and punched in the security code.

"Ranger," I said into the intercom.

The large front door slowly swung open.

"Palm print, voice print and security code. A little overkill, don't you think?" Joe drawled sardonically. "Who owns this place? Howard Hughes?"

Ignoring him, I led the way into the massive gathering room, which was decorated in bold, rich colors. A warm fire was already crackling in the massive floor-to-ceiling stone gas fireplace. In addition, the lights were set in a soft, homey glow, and the sound of jazz could be heard coming from the speakers in the ceiling.

"Is someone here?" Stephanie asked, looking around in awe.

"No. The house is automated," I replied brusquely, hoping to stop any more questions, especially from Stephanie. I could barely look at her for the guilt suddenly eating at me. "There's a sensor on the bottom of my vehicle that triggers what to do as soon as I pull into the driveway."

Joe rolled his eyes, but I was completely dazzled.

"It's absolutely gorgeous," she breathed. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It is lovely," Cheryl agreed politely. She was acting far more reserved following my flirtations in the car. "But if you'll excuse me, I'm in desperate need of a restroom."

"Down the hall to the right," I pointed.

"I'll get Cheryl's bags," Morelli grumbled, eyeing me suspiciously. "And then I think we need to talk."

"I'll get the bags—" Shit, he was already gone, which left me alone with Stephanie.

She'd already moved deeper into the gathering room, stopping in front of the fireplace mantle.

_Fuck! _I'd forgotten to have Ella remove all of my personal belongings. I watched helplessly while Stephanie's eyes devoured the photographs on the mantle—one of Tank and me on the day we'd graduated Ranger School, another of my entire family standing in front of last year's Christmas tree in that very room, and still another of me holding Julie as a baby.

I knew the very second the truth hit her. Her body jerked ever so slightly, and her eyes closed as if in pain. Just as quickly, they popped back open, and she turned to stare at me with a gaze that was both accusing and dismayed.

"This house is yours, isn't it?" she whispered in a voice far more accusing than if she'd yelled at me.

Without thought, I took a step toward her. _How the hell could I fix this awkward situation?_

"Babe—"

She held up her hand, drilling me with those unbelievably blue eyes of hers.

"It's the Bat Cave," she uttered disbelievingly. "You've brought _Cheryl_ to the Bat Cave."


End file.
